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#it’s so boring fishing for content I just want something real to be on screen
tobiosmilktea · 3 years
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nom de plume — bokuto koutarou
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1.6k words | genre/s: barista!au, fluff | warning/s: — | pairing: bokuto x gn!reader
↪︎ in which bokuto gives you a fake name every time he comes to the cafe you work at. you’ve been dying to know the handsome stranger’s real name, but here you are scribbling “captain america” onto his stupid caramel macchiato
a/n: here’s something short and sweet to quench my need to write a fic after writing boring essays all week for school. not the most original content either but i needed something simple :p
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there were four types of regulars you would see walk through those doors of the cafe you worked at. either to spend as little as five minutes to the entire day inside the shop just to breathe in the serenity of light jazz music humming in the background. you’ve been working at this establishment long enough to relish how different every single person’s life was as they stood in front of you and ordered their special pick-me-up for the day.
you could easily tell what a person was like based on what they order—like that middle-aged office worker with a receding hairline that always entered the cafe in the midst of an angry phone call with a client, disrupting in the calm mornings with bickering. he usually orders an iced americano, bitter and dark enough to match the dark circles under his eyes and wrinkles adorning his forehead. not entirely your favorite, but he tipped well.
then there was the occasional university student, overworked trying to finish three different essays while cramming for an exam. they usually come in small study groups that end up messing around half of the time or they trickle in as individuals, eyes all red and glued to their laptop screens as they try to chug the remaining contents of their cappuccinos with three shots of espresso.
then there were the soccer moms with their obnoxiously specific drinks, ranging from the different flavors of frappuccinos with extra, extra caramel drizzle.
and then there were guys like him—the one with alabaster hair and darkened roots who just walked inside the cafe—your favorite. the door swinging opening and causing the bell right above the threshold to ding. the tall, hot, and beefy regular with a smile so intoxicating that he catches you off guard each time he walks in exactly at two-thirty in the afternoon.
you didn’t know his name, but you recognized his face, all chiseled and annoyingly handsome. this time he was accompanied by his friend again, akaashi with dark frames resting on the bridge of his nose.
unlike his companion, you actually knew his name as he would actually give it to you, unlike the latter who preferred giving out a new nickname each time he comes around to visit. hell, you knew a lot more about akaashi despite seeing him far less often.
to say you were a bit peeved of this fact was beyond question.
the only thing you truly knew about the man you were inexplicably interested in was that he always ordered an iced caramel macchiato with almond milk. he was very particular about the non-dairy part of that order.
“what can i get you two?” you ask the two towering figures before you. though, it wasn’t much of a question when you already knew what they would order.
“a flat white for me,” says akaashi.
the usual, you think. he says he likes the foam art designs you make.
“and an iced caramel macchiato for me,” says the other, giving you that infamous toothy grin.
god, he was so cute. if only i knew your name, stranger.
you input their orders into your screen quickly, the total popping up on the smaller screen in front of akaashi and his friend as he takes out his card. he inserts the chip in for a few seconds, waiting for the beep to emit from the machine before taking it out in a swift flick.
once the payment goes through, your fingers pull the black sharpie clipped onto your apron off as you grab a cup.
akaashi didn’t bother mentioning his name as you were already scribbling it down in cursive—swift, yet satisfyingly neat. on the other hand, you waited for the white-haired boy to mention what new moniker that piqued his interest today. your eyes met his with patient intent.
“captain america,” he mutters with the corners of his lips tugging up into an amused smile. as if he was proud of himself for saying such, you couldn’t help melt into his contagious grin. like a ray of sunshine that would immediately melt away your troubles, you swore your heart skipped a beat.
the brunet flicks his eyes back and forth from you and his friend, temporary intrigue setting in as he holds back a smirk. “sorry about him,” akaashi pats his friend’s shoulder, “we’ve been rewatching the entirety of the mcu and just finished captain america before coming here.”
“oh, no worries, i’m used to it.” you wave it off, “it isn’t the first time he used marvel superheroes as nicknames. just two days ago he used vision after i reminded him that he had already used thor twice in the past week.”
“i’m surprised you remembered them in the first place,” akaashi’s friend confesses.
“how could i forget? i always look forward to whatever name you give me next.”
you thought you saw a hint of red blush dusting his cheeks when you flick a look over to him, but you weren’t too sure.
perhaps it was just your imagination.
noticing that you were only holding them up by making useless conversation, you clear your throat, muttering almost incoherently, “i’ll have your drinks ready in a few minutes.”
you dipped back towards the coffee machine before they could even thank you. their cups were gripped tightly in your hands as you placed them down next to the machine. the ground up coffee beans cascaded down the dispenser and into the portafilter. carefully, you compressed it tightly into the container before brewing the espresso into a small shot glass.
“is that the guy you were talking about?” your coworker, mitsuko, pops up from behind you and asks. you jolt a bit, almost spilling the piping hot, steamed milk in your hands when you give her a look, “you weren’t wrong when you said he was a complete hunk!”
playfully rolling your eyes, you continue making their coffees, careful not to spill anything that could possibly garner more attention towards you as you could see his towering figure over the barrier.
mitsuko’s eyes cast down towards one of the cups, grabbing at one of them to read the name. “captain america, huh?” she reads before glancing at him, “he fits the name well, at least. you think he’s an athlete?”
you shrug, “not sure, but i heard he’s a big marvel fan. he used quicksilver, vision, and thor in the past week.”
“aren’t you ever curious about his real name?” mitsuko asks as you smile contently at the foam art before snapping the cover atop akaashi’s flat white.
“of course i am,” you say, setting the ready-made drink to the side to start the other. “i suppose the guy likes his privacy. who knows, maybe he’s famous or something.”
you say that partly as a joke, but something inside of you thinks that perhaps that this was that one in a million chance. how would something of such a high caliber as him not be inherently well-known, even if it was just a little bit?
mitsuko snorts at your vehemence, slapping the meat of her thigh as if that was the funniest thing she has heard all day. “as if any famous person would ever come into a random cafe in a small city, (y/n).”
you didn’t answer for a few beats as you completed the white-haired boy’s drink, capping it properly. you weren’t ignoring your coworker’s statement, yet rather simmering in the thought of how ridiculous it actually sounded.
maybe this guy just wanted to have some cheap amusement. nothing more nothing less. it was just a name after all.
you let out a sigh, “as much as i would love to know his real name, it’s none of my business. speaking of which, has he ever given anyone else random nicknames when he comes by?”
mitsuko shrugs, “he only ever comes by when you work.��
“seriously?” you’re quite surprised.
“yup, this is the first time i’ve ever seen the infamous regular who only gives out fake names.” she mused, “maybe he does it to get your attention.”
you roll your eyes, scoffing at the thought. how ridiculous. you never wanted to wipe that smirk off of your coworker’s face as you wave her off, approaching the open end of the counter as you readied yourself to hand them their drinks.
they had been patiently waiting at the other end of the counter for a few minutes now, grateful they didn’t complain at your discrete chatter with mitsuko as some patrons would. instead, they smiled at your approaching figure with their coffees in your hands.
“here’s your flat white,” you hand the cup over to akaashi.
he flicks you a charming look of appreciation before making his way towards the cafe’s entrance. you couldn’t exactly pinpoint if he was in a hurry or not as he left you and his friend alone.
you didn’t entirely mind, though, as you shook it off.
you handed the man his drink, “and to the dude whose name that i shall never know.”
he mutters a brief thank you as he takes it from your hand, fingers brushing against each other and causing your heart to rush.
“aren’t you curious?” he asks suddenly.
your brows furrow, “about what?” you replied as you feign innocence.
“my name,” he clarifies.
“well, unless your name is actually captain america, why wouldn't i be curious?” a smirk was slowly appearing on your lips, “besides, with the dozens of people i see almost everyday, i have to say that you’ve caught my attention, stranger.”
he grins, hand fishing through his pocket, “well, since you’re dying to know,” he hands you a tiny slip of paper, making sure the tips of his fingers linger feather-like touches on the palm of your hand. “come and find out for yourself.”
he sends you a wink before walking out of the cafe, leaving you absolutely dumbfounded. your shaky fingers unfold the creases of the paper, eyes scanning the contents of his messy handwriting.
000-000-0000
the name’s bokuto — call me! :)
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general taglist: @yongboxerrr @crybabbicus @rosepetalhaven @tvwhoresblog @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea @milktyama
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guerilla935 · 4 years
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My Favorite Fishing in Video Games Where Fishing is Not Core Game Play
A really awesome surprise for me is always to boot up a game that is full of action and suspense to be introduced to a fishing side activity. I have toiled away at fishing in games for hundreds of hours at least. It has gotten so bad in some instances that my friends have asked me why I haven’t just taken the plunge into real fishing. It’s definitely because that is a lot of work and in real life I don’t catch a fish every 30 seconds. They have also wondered why I don’t just play a fishing simulator like Planet Fishing (Shout out to Planet Fishing that’s a great game). And that’s where I have to think for a while. Fishing while you have better things to do like save the world is very special. You aren’t fishing because it’s the objective of the game or because that’s why you are there, you are fishing because it’s fun and maybe you need a break to swing a fishing rod instead of a sword. And then you can stop, and get back to fighting or whatever the rest of the game entails. Below are games that have fishing in them for mostly no reason at all. I have shamelessly spent way to long with my bait in these waters and absolutely loved every second of it and I hope that you (the reader) can find a lot of relaxation in these waters as well.
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Pokemon Series
Since the very first Pokemon game there has been fishing. You get the old rod from some guy and then you are free to fish up as many goldfishes that you want hoping that one of them will grow up to be a 21 foot tall dragon. Pokemon has combined their fishing with their main game play and makes you at least start a battle with the fish you drag onto shore. Now fishing in Pokemon is pretty subpar mainly because a single Pokemon game hasn’t really been known to have more than a handful of Pokemon that you can fish for. Also if you are looking for a strong water type Pokemon you could do a lot better than fishing for it. Typically a Pokemon player will fish about 5-10 times total. And although fishing for Pokemon isn’t all that great it has been in every game for over 20 years and that is pretty impressive. It’s a small detail that makes the world of Pokemon feel like a real world of wild creatures.
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Sonic Adventure DX
In Sonic Adventure DX you are given the choice to play as a lot of different characters, one of which is named Big the Cat. Most of the characters are combat characters that rely on speed and attacks to get through levels, some even wielding rocket launchers and extremely oversized hammers. However when you start the story of Big the Cat you are thrown in a completely opposite direction. Big the Cat is a giant purple cat who lives in the jungle with his best friend Froggy. Froggy accidentally swallows one of the most powerful objects in the Sonic universe and Big the Cat must chase him all over the world trying to fish him out of where he is hiding so that he can eject the Chaos Emerald out of him and they can return to their life in the jungle. The fishing mechanics in this game actually are really good and this is probably because Sega had just put out a series of mildly successful Bass fishing games before releasing this game. Either way its absolutely hilarious that Big the Cat gets to defeat Chaos 6 right before Super Sonic has his showdown with Chaos Perfect.
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Final Fantasy XV
In Final Fantasy XV you play as Noctis and his favorite hobby is fishing. When I first played this game I sped through it and never fished once and reached the end of the game never indulging Noctis in his hobby. When I replayed Final Fantasy XV I fished for 50 hours and then ejected the disc from my console. The fishing in Final Fantasy XV is surprisingly deep with a lot of the vendors supporting what you could call a fishing road trip. In the game it is extremely dangerous to be out at night so I would plan day trips to lakes to maximize the amount of fishing I would get to do. I would prepare days in advance to make sure I could afford the trip and that I had enough supplies to both protect myself at the lake and have enough supplies to last the whole day. Final Fantasy XV really is a game about getting really distracted and fishing is probably its best distraction. My days on the lake were the perfect balance of peaceful and rewarding, this game offers an awesome reward of well planned trips and a good haul of fish.
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Final Fantasy XIV Online
Final Fantasy XIV is the only game I have ever played where the fishing played exactly like its combat. When you are fighting enemies in a dungeon in FFXIV you are constantly adding buffs, landing hits, using consumables, and managing resource bars. When you are fishing in FFXIV you are constantly adding buffs, landing hits, using consumables, and managing resource bars. Note you are doing so at a much more leisurely and less life threatening pace but you are still doing it. I never maxed out the fisher class but I got it into the expansion content which was a really long and relaxing experience. Yet another Final Fantasy title where the real meat of the game is in getting distracted. When you fish you also sell on a player market that fluctuates based on market price just like real fish. You get the relaxing fishing side of the game and also an aggressive economic number crunching side as well. I spent way too long with a real pen and paper deciding how much I should sell for on any particular day and bossing around my two cat girl employees.The MMO aspect of the game adds so much to what you would expect to be a very solitary experience.
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The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Have you ever gone fishing for hours to receive an empty bottle? That is exactly what kick started my addiction to fishing in Twilight Princess. An empty bottle in Twilight Princess means another way to heal yourself, another way to add oil to a lantern, another way to carry useless water around. The only way to get the 4th bottle in the game is to go to a dedicated fishing spot and fish until you pulled it out of the pond. The actual fishing is pretty weird, it involves motion controls which I still am not entirely sure what they do or how to properly use them but it is really fun to hold the pole in gyroscope and set the lure in the water waiting for fish to come get a nibble. Although the physics with the water make it difficult to see if you have actually gotten a bite or not it still is enjoyable the other 85% of the time it works.
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Stardew Valley
So this one is at the top of every other “fishing in games” list and there is a big reason for that. It’s really good. I think in my first Stardew Valley farm I gave up farming entirely and fished all day every day and stopped to buy food to replenish my energy and go back at it. I really didn’t care about getting rich or making enough money to expand the farm or get to know everyone I actually spent about 50 hours just fishing. The fishing takes some skill and a pretty keen eye but the random jerks of the fish and the rhythm of the game play are so fun to try to master. It’s a part of Stardew Valley that I felt like I was continuously improving on as time went on and it was really fun. I mean I don’t recommend it because you’ll end up moderately poor but it was really fun.
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Fantasy Life
Fantasy Life offers you 12 potential jobs, you could be a brilliant blacksmith or a devious potions maker, a lumberjack or a knight, a hunter or a seamstress. However your inner dad is calling and you decide you want to play through a fantasy RPG as a fisherman, hell yeah. the story is relatively short so you can quickly unlock a lot of locales to fish at and there is a manageable economy system that lets you deal in fish in advantageous ways. You can even pick up cooking on the side and make fancy dinners and sell the fish for higher you can do that as well. Fantasy Life is like a clever mix between Animal Crossing and Final Fantasy XIV and it kind of succeeds and falls short of it. The fishing also takes a good amount of skill and rhythmic approach to master so it doesn’t get boring almost at all until you have cleared the game.
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Maple Story 2
Maple Story 2 is one of the most expressive and cutest games that I have ever played. And the fishing is no different, its all about style. The fishing in Maple Story 2 is monotonous and can get old but you do it for the chibi clout. Because much like the rest of the game you can look however you want and do whatever you want and sometimes you just feel like kicking back and throwing lure in the water at the beach. I never got super into the fishing in this game but it won me over with its adorable design and stylish atmosphere.
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Animal Crossing Series
Of course I had to include the most popular game right now. Animal Crossing has become something of a connection between people when we can’t leave the house. A thing we all have in common on social media and with our friends. My first experience with Animal Crossing really starts with New Horizons and I was completely blown away. The fishing isn’t super complex or difficult but the range of what you can pull out of the water and what you can do with it is absolutely breathtaking. For a game about cartoon people living with humanoid cartoon animals the fish looking photo realistic. And the museum where they can be kept is stunning. The museum looks like it was designed to capture the feel of being in a museum and matches the design of all the great real life aquariums and observatories. Although it is a bit frustrating when your rod breaks it is easy enough to make one (or worst case buy one) to get your bait back in the water.
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Super Smash Bros. Ultimate
Tell me I’m wrong, you can’t. Isabelle getting added to Smash brought a very powerful fishing move that isn’t practical all the time but is really funny. Wouldn’t recommend this game if you are looking to relax and fish but I do recommend hooking your friend with a fish hook and send them flying off screen if you had to.
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Minecraft
I have a very special role in Minecraft when I join a friends server. A role that I assign to myself. While everyone is off getting awesome swords, spelunking for diamonds, and exploring the infinite landscape, I build a small wooden shack and I set up a farm with an irrigation canal and start fishing. A steady supply of food is necessary and while I’m hanging out with my friends in a server I’m happy to be the one to provide it. The fishing in this game is probably the slowest of all the ones on this list but is the most useful. just throwing the fish in the oven creates food that can help keep you and your companions alive for a long time. I think I definitely have my limits with Minecraft fishing and I couldn’t do it for hours on end it is rewarding to set up shop and find a nice place to settle down for a few hours to fish.
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Fire Emblem: Three Houses
This is the only Tactical RPG in this post. Fire Emblem: Three Houses has sections between combat where you can go and talk to your students and do other activities. We aren’t here to discuss other activities though we are here for the fishing. The fishing allows you to catch fish for some reason that I’m sure is good but never intrigued me enough to learn. All I know about the fishing in Fire Emblem: Three Houses is that it’s fun. I started to bust through combat just so that I could get back to fishing. The funniest part about this one is that the fish has a health bar. Pressing the A button at the exact moment finds a way to become easier and still find ways to mess you up. Either way, I’m not that interested in tactical RPGs but I heard there was fishing in this game so I had to play it and it was worth it.
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Jak & Daxter: The Precursor Legacy
In Jak & Daxter, Daxter gets turned into a small animal by dark eco while exploring a dangerous island off the shore of his home with his best friend Jak. To get back to the island to investigate, the pair have to borrow a boat owned by a fisherman who is troubled by an invasive species of poisonous eel that is ruining his haul. He asks Jak to catch fish for him without catching any eels. This fishing mini game can only be done once but it is going to either be something you think is very unique or a huge waste of time. All I’ll say is that the sound that the fish makes when it goes into the net is absolutely a reward in itself it is so satisfying. But anyways, more intense than some other options here but get it done so you can get back to absorbing eco powers and jumping on stuff.
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Shovel Knight
Shovel Knight is a 2D action platformer but you can also fish. And you fish for the best kind of fish, money. You can get some other stuff too like health pickups and magic replenishers but we know what you want. You see that little glint and you pop out the fishing rod and pull out those money bags. If you are devoted enough you can even get a surprise from the Troupple King (long live his highness) if you fish out the right stuff. I don’t even know if I fished all that much when I played Shovel Knight but it’s hilarious that you can.
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NieR: Automata
I did not play a lot of NieR and that’s because I was fishing. I don’t know why all I did was fish but you throw your little robot in the pond and you lean on a magical stool so honestly it was good enough for me.
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Club Penguin
If you know then you know. In hind sight there really wasn’t a whole lot to do in Club Penguin but this mini game really messed me up. You basically get to move up and down, catching fish and avoiding trash and other hazards. Basically trying to do this and catch as much fish as possible to avoid having to ask your parents for real money to pay for snacks to feed a virtual ball of fluff with eyeballs. I don’t really remember how challenging it really was but I remember getting decently high scores to about like 100 fish per round so I guess it was pretty easy if I could do that at age 10.
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Rune Factory 4
I’m gonna be very honest about this one and say that the fishing in Rune Factory 4 is basically just Animal Crossing fishing but more anime. The fish react to the pole the same, the fish almost look the same, and the buttons to respond are the same. What makes this one special is where you can take it. You can fish in the little moat in town, in the lake, in a dungeon full of monsters, in a lake that is eternally the season fall, anywhere. You are constricted by the boundaries of Stardew Valley and that is how much energy you have and how much time you have in the day. It’s still fun to fish but I wish that they had used their fun fantasy setting to give the ability to fish up some cool made up fish instead of strictly things that exist in real life.
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Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Ok, diving, fishing, same thing. Diving in Xenoblade Chronicles 2 is just fishing with your whole body. It works a lot in the same way as Pokemon where you fish up monsters to fight and get the rewards from them. It is a completely optional activity however if you decide to undertake the grind of scavenging in Xenoblade Chronicles 2 then you will never hurt for money ever again. It makes my wonder why Rex stopped being a salvager to do odd jobs because this was PROFITABLE. The main incentive is that there are spots that spawn a certain enemy that drop cores. Cores are like gacha or loot boxes that contain new anime girl partners that deal huge damage in fights. They even have their own side quests and story lines. I spent maybe 30 hours grinding before giving up on this game and while it does become tiresome I really enjoyed the random rewards of possibly getting a new companion or a really cool weapon.
It’s been tossed around that every great RPG has fishing in it. I won’t argue that point but a lot of great RPGs certainly do have fishing in them. Everyone needs a break sometimes and fishing is the perfect activity to remind us to stop and take that break. Even games can get long and without these distractions it might be so much harder to complete these harrowing tasks. Don’t forget to take breaks and just enjoy the sound of the water every once in a while because there’s no rush playing video games.
Honorable Mentions:
Kingdom Hearts: Sora fishing with his bare hands on Destiny Island
Persona 4: Weird aqueduct fishing
Persona 5: Marina fishing life
Sea of Thieves: A pirates life for me
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pasiveagressive · 3 years
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Pen Pal // h.s.
Warning: light language, there is a mention of self harm, and some verbal abuse. 
Highschool AU This is really long for me 9.4k words and it’s not really done I am thinking a part 2 and maybe even a 3. Let me know what you think!
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When she was five she was given a project from her teacher saying that she had to write to a pen pal. She had no idea what a pen pal was and how she got one, but she had told the class that a pen pal was someone who lived far away and we wrote a letter to them. Their letters were going to England to another class and they had to write them and they had to write back. This sounded fun. Teacher had a hat in her hands and when she passed it around we had to pick out a piece of paper that contained a name and an address. She took her's out and saw the name, it was a boy, she didn't like boys, well that wasn't true, the only boy's she liked were her brother, her best friend and her daddy. The teacher told the class they had to write to their pen pals for the whole school year.
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When she was ten, she still wrote to her pen pal, she didn't understand why she had been writing him for the last five years, but she had been. He was funny and easy to talk too, she thought that perhaps this boy was going to be her first crush, something she thought one of her brother's friends would be, but she was pretty sure this boy was. He helped her through a lot, like when Mommy and Daddy argued and doors slammed or when Mommy packed up her suitcases and left or when Daddy didn't come down from his room and her brother had to take care of her or when Daddy changed. He helped her a lot, and she helped him too, they sometimes even helped each other with their homework. She had found a true friend in him, and she hoped he felt the same about her.
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When she was twelve her Daddy let her have an E-Mail and she told the boy, he too had an E-mail and they talked on MSN all the time, but they still wrote letters to each other, personally hand written pieces of paper seemed much nicer than typed words on a screen. Her brother was about to be in high school now and she would be starting middle school next year. The boy had started middle school this year and it was the first time, she realized, that she knew how old he was. They would talk about homework; friends and she asked him questions about boys. The boy didn't answer a lot of them but she didn't mind, the only boy she cared about noticing her was him, but then something dawned on her. They may never meet.
When she was fifteen she started High School and the boy was a year ahead of her. Her mother had returned to the city, remarried, and she wanted to see her children, but she refused to go, as far as she was concerned her mother had abandoned her and her brother and her Father had taken care of them, but he had changed even more. Her brother would soon be off to college and she would still be here, her father wasn't so bad, only when he disapproved of something did he get angry, he never struck her, her brother would never allow it, he was protective over his baby sister especially now that boy's had started to notice her. She still wrote to the boy and told him all about her problems, it had been ten years and she could still confide in him and he confided in her and she liked it that way. It meant that somewhere she had someone who cared, someone who listened. Someone who knew her better than anyone.
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She was sixteen when her world began to change, she still wrote to the boy and now she had a boyfriend, one of her brother's friends, she was a cheerleader and he was a soccer player and was on the swim team. Then she got a letter, it said that he had received a scholarship to her school and he was coming to New York, she was ecstatic and began to write him back when the pen suddenly fell from her hands as she realized something she had been denying. She had feelings for the boy with the elegant handwriting and who always wrote in blue pen. He couldn't come here, not when she had a boyfriend, but who was she kidding, they didn't know what each other looked like, so maybe she could hide who she was from him, the only thing he knew about he was her name and there was more than one Y/N in her school, but he never called her by her real name, when he was ten he gave her a nickname and nobody knew it except for him. She realized how ridiculous she was being, this boy had no romantic interest in her and if he did, what did it matter? She has a boyfriend now.
What she didn't know was when he came to New York her whole life would change and he would be a part of that change.
She had feelings for the boy with the elegant script and blue pen, and they were not going to go away.
"Ugh, how can you eat so much?"
Y/N Y/L/N looked at a friend with thinly veiled disgust, she had no idea where Maya put it all and considering she was eating cafeteria food, it made it just that much worse. Especially because today's menu was all seafood.
"Excuse me for being one of the few girls in the world that acknowledges a love for food." She said and then took a bite out of a fish stick and grinned.
"Hey, I like food just not too much." Y/N said, eyeing what could only be Maya's twentieth piece of fried fish.
"That's because you, my friend, are a cheerleader and must stay in impeccable shape." Maya winked and then went back to eating.
Y/N sighed, it was true, part of the reason as to why she didn't eat a lot was cheerleading, she needed to stay small so she could tumble and be thrown in the air. Maya seemed to resent her for the fact that she was a cheerleader, but Y/N could not help it if Maya did not have great hand eye coordination. She knew Maya didn't really like her, but she put up with having her around because Will and Joel liked her. She didn't know why Maya hated her, she thought it was partly because she was part of the in crowd and Maya thought that they were all snobs.
Y/N was no snob.
Someone patted her head and she turned to look and was looking into the kind eyes of her best friend.
Will Davis.
His brown hair was in his eyes, covering the chocolate orbs. He sat down, his skinny frame folding easily on the chair. He had to push his glasses from the end of his nose back up to where they were supposed to be. Y/N couldn't help but grin at him, he was so normal, that was why she opted to sit with him at lunch and not the—as Maya bluntly puts it—the popular hoes.
Y/N looked over at her other friends, they were crowded around their table near the window, laughing and joking, she saw her best friend Isabella and her brother Jack, they looked annoyingly happy. She was well aware that Jack liked Isabella but his feelings were not reciprocated, but Jack was a star at school, everyone wanted to be with him, especially Kayla.
Y/N hated Kayla.
"Well, I'm done; I'm going to go prepare for class." She smiled at the group and dumped the contents of her tray into the garbage and left her tray on top, leaving the cafeteria, she straightened out her uniform and remembered something.
She had had practice this morning and all of her bag was still in her locker, crammed into the small space. She had gotten a lift with her brother today so she had to put all of her stuff in his car. Huffing, she spun back around and walked over to her brother's table, feeling the eyes of her other friends on her, as if she was betraying them.
She knew that they thought sooner or later she would stop sitting with them and sit with the 'popular' crowd, but she sat with them because they were superficial, they were fun to be around and she liked them, even Maya on her good days.
"Jacky," she said, arriving at the table and stopping in front of her brother. He seemed to be in an overly animated conversation with Liam, her more or less boyfriend.
"Yes?" He looked up at her, sounding bored.
"I need your keys so I can put my stuff in your car." She held her hand out expectantly but Jack made no move to hand over the keys. She was aware that the group was staring and acutely aware that Kayla was practically drooling over her brother, she didn't see the big deal. She could admit that he was nice looking but hot? No way, then again he was her brother it would be weird if she thought he was a god like the rest of the school.
Jack was nearly eighteen and this was his senior year, along with Liam, Kayla and a few others. He received a lot of female attention and people were always asking if they were really related, Y/N could see why, they looked nothing alike.
Jack had silvery blonde hair and dark eyes, he was tall and had a soccer player's build, where Y/N had Y/C/H and Y/C/E, and had a frame that was slightly toned from nearly four years of cheerleading.
Y/N never understood why she was a cheerleader, she wasn't a girly girl and she didn't dress up a lot, she was more into art, but then cheerleading provided her with confidence and made her feel alive like nothing had before, she loved the feeling of being tossed into the air and soaring like a bird. It was freeing.
"How do I know that you aren't going to joy ride and leave me stranded here?" Y/N scoffed at this.
"Honestly, even if I was going to do that, you would never be stranded, I'm sure there are a million people who would give you a ride." She batted her lashes innocently at him.
He could never deny giving his sister anything, he loved her, he had taken care of her when Father had been unfit, he watched over her, he protected her.
"Fine, here, but give them straight back." He said firmly and she rolled her eyes.
"Yeah yeah." She said turning back and going to her locker. Maybe she should joyride, just to teach him a lesson, then again, that would be one time that Jack didn't protect her.
Y/N walked to her locker, putting in the combination and opening it; grabbing her bag she hauled it over her shoulder and was about to head out to the student parking lot when a hand gently grabbed her waist pulling her back. She raised her eyes to see Liam, smiling down at her.
Liam was her boyfriend, she supposed, they had been together for over a month now and Y/N was very happy. He was very good looking with brown hair that had a messy on purpose look, brown eyes, like melting chocolate, a tall stature and the build of a soccer player mixed in with the grace of a swimmer.
"Hey," he said as he moved, causing her to walk back and feel the cool metal of the locker's behind her.
"Hey," she said smiling. Liam's hand snaked out to play with a strand of her hair. He always played with her hair, Y/N didn't understand the fascination, it was a big frizz ball as far as she was concerned.
"Any plans tonight?" He asked while still fiddling with her hair.
"Sure, with the most wonderful man." Liam looked confused and let her hair fall back. "You should meet him, ever heard of Edgar Allen Poe?" She smirked as he shook his head.
"You are a devil woman." He moved so that Y/N could do what she had originally planned and put her bag in her brother's car.
"Walk with me?" She asked and he nodded, taking her bag and holding her hand.
She knew a lot of girls didn't understand why Liam was dating her; she didn't understand it herself, he was popular, the whole female population of Anchor Academy wanted him and threw dagger looks at her in the halls, but she revelled in it, for once she was envied, for once people wanted to be her.
Y/N deposited her bag in the boot of her brother's truck and turned to the back seat where she knew she had left her pencil box, she slid them into her brown leather backpack and locked the car—after closing the door—and spun to Liam. He had his hands on her hips and was staring down at her with a burning intensity.
"Do you want to do something tonight?" He asked in a shaky voice. They had never been this close before, they hadn't even done more than pecks, she didn't know what was stopping her but she knew she was grateful that he was patient, she wondered how long that would last.
"I can't, I'm sorry, but I have to finish this assignment." The bell rang then and Y/N now understood the meaning of the phrase saved by the bell. "I need to go, but I'll see you tomorrow?" She got on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, waving as she headed to class.
Y/N wasn't exactly lying to Liam, she did need to finish this assignment, but it wasn't due for another two weeks. Y/N knew why she didn't go out a lot on school days, but that was her secret.
#####
Y/N sat at her computer desk, researching for this English paper when her chat window came up.
Hello Y/N
Y/N smiled and typed back. They had been friends for eleven years now, he knew her inside and out as she knew him, except for the fact that they had no idea what the other looked like, she thought and he agreed that it would be better to keep their faces hidden, like real pen pals.
Y/N remembered the day she had been told she had to write to him and the day he walked into her life, never walking out.
Y/N sat at her seat next to her new friend Will. He was funny looking; he had really big glasses and funny hair. They were friends because Y/N saw him reading and she wanted to read too. 
"Okay guy, we are doing a fun new assignment called Pen Pals! This means, each of you will select a name from this hat," She held the hat out for show. "And you will write that person a letter and then they will write you one and you will keep replying until the end of the year. Does that sound like fun?" The teacher was overexcited, Y/N didn't see the big deal, she was writing to a stranger. Her mom always told her never to talk to strangers. 
The hat was passed around and Y/N dipped her hand in and pulled out a piece of paper, handing the hat to Will. She opened the paper and saw the name of her 'Pen Pal'.
Harry Styles
Under his name was what she thought was an address. She pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil and began to write her first letter.
Dear Harry...
You're distracting me from homework, Y/N replied to Harry. When she had started that assignment she had no idea she was going to make a lifelong friend, a best friend and she had, in Harry, he had been her first crush, even if she hadn't officially met him, Y/N had wanted him to be her first kiss too, but that was impossible in case she was able to get a plane to England and the little savings she had in her piggy bank, Father gave her money but she always used that on the weekends, going to movies or restaurants or clubs.
Really, what are you doing? 
She was about to respond when he wrote something else and she giggled.
More importantly, what are you wearing? ;)
Y/N shook her head; Harry was always a cocky smartass.
Edgar Allan Poe
You're wearing Edgar Allan Poe? Lucky guy
Oh haha! I am studying Edgar Allan Poe and wearing nothing
Harry didn't reply, which was uncommon for him, not much rendered him speechless, in the time they had spoken, be it through letter or internet, she had learnt a lot about Harry and his life, what he was like and what he was hiding, she felt as if she was one of the only people who knew the real Harry and somehow that made her feel lucky.
What poem?
He ignored the naked comment. Smooth.
Instead of typing the title, which he would then Google, Y/N wrote the poem to him, perhaps he could shed some light on it for she was having no luck.
Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been- a most familiar bird-
Taught me my alphabet to say-
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child- with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings-
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away- forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.
Y/N awaited his response as she read over the lines of the poem herself. The poem was called Romance and Y/N really hoped Harry didn't read something onto the title.
Well Y/N, it seems you have a pickle in your hands here.
Ever the asshole, Harry didn't help her at all. She sighed, deciding he was too distracting for her to actually get work done.
I'm signing off, you really are no help. Talk to you soon. 
Y/N logged off before he could respond. For another hour she pondered what the poem could mean and then gave up and decided to concentrate on her art assignment. She was supposed to draw something that meant a lot to her but she couldn't think of anything except for Harry and she couldn't very well draw him, she had no idea what he looked like.
Then an idea no, more like an image, came to fruition within her thoughts and she began sketching, not knowing where this idea had come from, but she was going with it, it was all the help she was going to get.
Y/N awoke the next morning and sauntered into the kitchen, pouring herself some cereal she went to get milk when she saw the envelope sitting there, with her name written on the front in elegant script and written in blue biro. She knew who it was from immediately and sitting at the table, her breakfast forgotten, she opened the letter and started reading.
She was glad she didn't eat, because she probably would have just thrown it all up with the nausea she felt.
Harry was coming to New York, not only that he was coming to her school.
That was bad, he would see her, who she really was, who her friends were, what her friends were like, her brother and he would see what she looked like. Y/N suddenly felt extremely self conscious and opted not to wear her original outfit and instead wear baggy jeans, a tank top, a giant hoodie and ugly sneakers.
She didn't want Harry to see her because she knew, she knew that he would be beautiful and she was not, he would laugh at her and never speak to her again.
Y/N didn't think she could handle losing her friend, her best friend, her soul mate.
Y/N had never changed outfits so many times in her life.
She had gone from baggy, to slutty, to loose fitting, to tight, to exposing, to completely covered, and finally she decided to go for a mix and ended up in something she would normally wear. Looking at herself in the mirror she realised that being friends with Isabella had influenced her style way too much.
And even scarier, she had never put in this much effort to look nice for Liam.
Y/N was wearing a loose grey shirt with a leather belt that emphasised her small waist, a pair of black skinny jeans covered her legs and her feet were enclosed in ballet flats. Her hair was pinned on one side and her makeup was light, she wore no jewellery and she had her bag slung around her shoulders.
Y/N descended the stairs and grabbed a berry yogurt from the fridge for breakfast and waited for her brother.
Jack came down the stairs a few minutes later and nodded at her, picking up his backpack and an apple, grabbing his keys they were about to leave when their father came out from the study.
He was always in the study.
"Where are you going dressed like that?" He asked Y/N, his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol. Y/N looked down at her attire, not seeing anything wrong with it.
"What's wrong with it?" She asked cautiously, standing closer to Jack.
When her father drank, he drank until he couldn't see anymore and he always asked or commented on Y/N's looks and she knew why. She looked exactly like her mother. Jack always came to her rescue when he started on a tirade, she was grateful to have such a loving brother.
"It looks like you are trying to impress a man. I want to know who?" Y/N cringed back at the look her father gave her. She hated it when he was like this.
Ever since their mother had abandoned them, Y/N's father had indulged in Alcohol and, as a result, had lost his job. They had nearly lost their home until, one day; their father had snapped out of it and got himself together. He got another job and was earning good money, Jack got a part time job for extra money and Y/N also got a summer job to pay for art classes.
He still drank and when he did, Y/N would rather avoid him.
"No one sir, I was just trying out a new style."
"What's it called? Whore?"
"Father." Jack stepped in, standing between Y/N and their father. "Enough. You're drunk."
"Just like your mother, she abandoned you kids, I stayed and this is how you repay me? By looking like something out of a x-rated movie?"
Y/N bit her lip and kept her tears at bay.
He wasn't her daddy right now. He was the thing that their mother had made.
"Y/N," Jack whispered. "Go to the car." Y/N did and waited for Jack.
When he appeared she was fidgeting with her outfit.
"Y/N, you look beautiful. Don't listen to him."
She smiled as he unlocked the car. She put her stuff on the back seat and sat, buckling her seat belt and fiddling with the music as he took off towards school.
"But out of pure curiosity, who are you trying to impress?"
My pen pal from kindergarten who just moved to this school.
"No one, just trying something new."
#####
Harry rolled his eyes, walking along behind the chick giving him the tour of the school.
Isabella? That was her name he thought. She seemed to like to talk and look at herself and look at Harry. Typical Barbie teenager, he could have her in minutes if he wanted, but he was far too anxious about where he was and who he knew was here. He felt oddly nervous, but he didn't know why. He knew that he was good looking—okay, that was an understatement—he could get any girl he wanted with a snap of his fingers, but it was different now.
He knew everything about Y/N—except for what she looked like, which was a big thing for Harry. He could admit that he was shallow, he always went for the easy girls as opposed to any other girl, but he doubted that Y/N was easy.
The fact that she had a boyfriend said so.
Harry clenched his jaw at that thought, it was ridiculous to get annoyed over one word, but Y/N having a boyfriend was not the way he had pictured their first meeting to go. He expected her to fall into his arms or his bed, depending on the location.
He had to stop thinking of Y/N like that. They were friends, best friends, and had been since she was five and he was six, he loved her like a friend and cared about her. He lived for the days they would talk for hours. He loved being able to open up to her.
He loved having a girl as his friend that cared about him even though she had no idea what he looked like.
"And this is the cafeteria. You can sit with me, you said you played soccer right?" Harry nodded at Isabella's question. "Good, I sit with some soccer players." They walked into the room; it was white and blue with long tables and benches. There was a lineup for the food but Harry wrinkled his nose.
He never ate cafeteria food; he always brought his own lunch.
He had told his Grandmother this and she had packed him a lunch. His stomach growled thinking about it.
"Did you want some food?" She asked.
"I have some with me." He responded, giving her his signature smirk. She smiled back at him and batted her eyelashes as she trotted off to a table in the back with a group of boys and girls. Isabella sat and gestured to a spare seat next to her in which Harry took.
"Everyone," She announced, gesturing to the group as a whole. "This is Harry Styles, he's new. He moved here from England and he too plays soccer."
"Interested in trying out? We need a new player." A boy with light silver-white hair asked.
"Sure," Harry responded nonchalantly, when really the prospect of playing the game he loved so much gave him a kick of adrenaline.
"Excellent. Come to practice this afternoon." He reached over offering his hand. "I'm Jack, captain, goalie." Harry shook his hand, recognising the name.
My older brother, Jack, is starting second grade next year.
Jack starts high school soon.
My brother got into the soccer team.
Jack was made captain!
So, this was Y/N's brother. He studied the boy, trying to imagine his features on a girl. An image rose. Dark eyes, contrasting with a pale complexion, tall and stringy, like a beanstalk, with a bit of athleticism due to cheerleading and long silvery hair.
Harry wasn't entirely put off by the image.
"That's Isabella, as you know." Jack continued, pointing to the girl next to him. "Cherr captain. Laney and Kayla are also cheerleaders. Liam, Jared are also on the team. The others are around somewhere, but we all prefer each other's company."
Harry acknowledged everyone with a nod, noting that Liam was a boy with dark hair and eyes and was also, he suspected, Y/N's boyfriend.
This guy, one of my brothers' friends, asked me out so I won't be able to talk tonight.
Liam, the guy I went on a date with, asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes. 
Harry knew he was much better looking.
Harry looked around the cafeteria, trying to see if he could spot her.
"Ah," Jack said and here comes the most important member of our group.
Harry looked to where Jack was pointing and saw a girl walking towards them, tray in hand. Her eyes met Harry's and everything seemed to go silent. She was beautiful, not a generic beauty, but someone who didn't know how beautiful they were. Hair in a braid at her side, big luminous eyes widened as they looked at Harry. A small frame, with some muscle.
"Who?" Harry asked, not able to tear his eyes from her. His study happened in a split second; no one noticed that they had shared a moment.
A moment he would never forget.
"My sister."
The moment he first saw his Y/N.
#####
"Come on Y/N, you don't want to miss him, he is so hot." Stella, her partner in science, pushed Y/N out of the class.
She was trying to get Y/N to the cafeteria to see the new boy, she had heard about him all day and received an excited message from Isabella saying she was escorting him. She had heard he was hot but she knew something about him that no one else did.
The new boy was Harry Styles, her pen pal for over ten years.
Y/N was nervous as her and Stella approached the cafeteria, Stella scanned the room and her shoulders slumped in disappointment.
"He isn't here yet. Let's line up, by the time we get our food, he should be here."
Y/N waited in line, noting that her brother and boyfriend came through and immediately sat down. They never ate school food. Y/N was envious. She hated the oily, bland food they made. She made a note to go car shopping sooner so that she could leave during lunch and buy something.
Y/N got her tray and on it placed an apple juice, a salad, a chocolate muffin and a small bowl of Mac 'n' Cheese.
Y/N decided to sit at her Brother's table today—well Isabella had decided for her—and as she made her way over, she stopped dead in her tracks as her eyes met with him.
His eyes were bright, emerald green and his hair was shaggy and brunette, falling under his chin and just above his eyes. His skin was sun kissed and he had an athlete's build. He was the most handsome boy Y/N had ever seen. Then it registered.
She had never seen this boy before, he was sitting with her brother, her boyfriend and Isabella and he, too, was staring at her.
She felt a lump build in her throat and she didn't need Stella's input.
"That's him, the new boy."
Y/N gulped and suddenly felt the urge to run and hide.
The new boy.
Her boy.
Her best friend.
Harry Styles, her Harry.
Y/N was able to move from her spot once Stella broke the trance she had been in.
She didn't look at him when she got to the table, taking a seat next to Liam and realising with annoyance that Harry was across from her. She couldn't look at him, then they would all know. They would know she knew Harry, she cared for Harry and she couldn't let that happen.
"Hey baby," Liam said as she settled in her seat. Leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. Y/N's eyes inadvertently went to Harry as his lips made contact. His eyes blazed and his jaw tightened as Liam kissed her, but Y/N didn't understand why.
"Ow," Liam said as he pulled away, glaring at Jack. "Who just throws bread at someone?"
"That's my sister," Jack said. "Next time, it won't be bread."
"Jack, you are so overprotective. I am not a baby anymore" Y/N said, looking at her brother. It was the first words she had spoken since seeing Harry. She didn't look at him or tried not to anyway.
"Y/N!" Isabella said excitedly, drawing her attention. "This is Harry Styles; new guy from England, your brother is letting him try out for the team!"
Isabella, I know more about him than you, shut up and stop looking at him like that!
Y/N let her gaze go to Harry.
"Really? You must be something special to get that stubborn JACKass to let you try out." She smiled innocently at Jack.
"Oh you have no idea." Harry replied, his voice like heaven.
"We'll see about that." Liam said, slinging his arm around Y/N. "Are you coming to see his tryout babe?"
Y/N looked over at Harry who smirked at her quickly before glancing down at his untouched lunch. He seemed to have packed lunch, Y/N found that cute.
"Wouldn't miss it."
###
Y/N changed into some workout clothes.
"Alright," Isabella said as they stretched on the field. "We are going to practice the cheers for next weeks game, because frankly you suck at it. Let's go!"
Isabella was nothing if not direct.
She looked out at the field and saw Liam; he smiled and waved to her. Jack saw this and whacked him over the head.
Y/N couldn't help but laugh at that.
Then she noticed Harry and all laughter died as they looked at one another from across the field. He was shirtless, and boy did he look good, and he made it no secret to check her out. Y/N turned from him before Liam or Jack saw the look Harry was giving her.
She was distracted all through practice, but luckily, she wasn't the worse one here. A lot of the other girls were distracted by Harry too. Y/N tried not to dwell on that.
As the cheerleaders were packing, Y/N noticed Jack and Harry shaking hands and smiling.
He must have made the team
She saw Liam then and he began to walk over to her, she smiled and walked over to him, after having packed up what she was supposed to, and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on top of hers.
"So, Harry is a pretty good player isn't he?" Y/N said as she pulled away from Liam, taking his hand and walking to where she would change.
"Yeah, I guess so, hopefully he will be enough to get us out of this slump."
"I'm sure he will be." They had reached the entrance to the girl's locker room and Y/N looked up at Liam, his brown eyes smiling at her.
"Do you want me to take you home?"
Y/N was about to say no, that Jack gave her a lift to school and would take her home but then she thought about how little time she spent with Liam and nodded, hurrying to get changed and coming back out in record time.
"That was fast." He commented, smirking at her as he took her school bag.
"Well, I wanted to spend time with you." Y/N crinkled her nose. The girl's locker room always smelled like perfume, too much perfume and all of different scents. It got quite difficult to breathe in there.
"Cutie."Liam bent down and brushed his lips over Y/N's. 
Liam pulled back grinned, Y/N stood and stared up at him, unable to form words.
The kiss was small, short and...Nice.
"Why Miss Y/L/N I do believe my kissing has stunned you into silence. I am quite good."
Y/N shook her head and shoved his arm playfully, about to say something smartass back to him when something caught her eyes. A flash, retreating into the boys' locker room.
Harry?
She turned back to Liam and they continued walking, they were nearly at his car when she remembered something. Slapping a hand to her forehead. Liam looked down at her in concern.
"Shoot, I forgot my homework in my locker. I'll be right back." She began to run towards the school.
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"I'll meet you at the car in a couple of minutes." She called back to him, dashing into the doors and running to her locker.
She put in the combination and got the book she needed, shutting her locker door she turned to go and jumped, seeing something she hadn't noticed before.
"Well, alone at last."
Y/N looked up at the person before her, feeling her insides melt.
"Harry," She breathed, unable to say anything but his name.
"Well Y/N, we meet at last."
Y/N looked up at Harry. She wasn't ready for this, no matter how many times she told herself she was, she wasn't and she realised she never would be ready to meet Harry. He was someone that she could turn to when she needed a shoulder to cry on. He was someone she could tell everything to—she had told everything to him and he was her best friend, someone who knew her better than anyone and now that he was here, she regretted telling him all those things. She regretted letting Harry in.
"I should go," she mumbled and started to walk away. Harry grabbed her arm and she spun, nearly head butting his chest. For a moment she stood frozen and, annoyingly, a song started playing through her head, one that she should not be thinking about when she had a boyfriend.
At last, my love has come along, my lonely days are over.
"Y/N" Harry whispered and she saw how close their faces were, his lips mere centimetres from hers. If she leaned forward, just a little, they would kiss and she had thought about kissing Harry plenty. Harry seemed to be thinking the same thing. His eyes travelled down to her lips and then back to her eyes. He was about to say something. Y/N wanted to hear it, she wanted to hear what he had to say to her, but the trance they were in was broken when Harry smirked down at her and spoke.
"I always imagined our meeting to go a little...differently."
Y/N didn't like his tone and managed to step out of his grip on her arm.
"You've imagined our meeting?" She asked, her voice coming out a little breathlessly.
"All the time, Y/N," she tried not to think of how her nickname—the name only he called her—sounded like a caress. "I mean, we've known each other for years and we have never met. I've always wondered what it would be like." He grinned wickedly at her and Y/N felt herself respond with a small, teasing, smile. One Isabella had taught her.
Damn her flirting classes to the pits of hell!
"Well, it's great to, you know, finally meet you. We should definitely hang out some—" Harry placed a hand over her mouth and moved his eyes in the direction of an empty room. Y/N felt her brow furrowed in confusion and then she registered the sound of footsteps. She didn't have time to respond before Harry was walking towards the room, with her in tow, locking the door and pulling the blind down.
"Harry," She hissed. "What are you—?"
"Y/N?"
The voice came from the hallway and Y/N widened her eyes as she recognised it. Harry put a finger to his lips in the international sign for silence.
"Y/N, baby?"
Liam was walking past the door and Y/N had to resist the urge to yell out his name, Harry saw this and leaned into her, whispering in her ear. His breath caused her to shiver.
"Y/N, I just want to talk to you alone."
"Harry, he's my ride home and my boyfriend," she said defensively.
"Text him and tell him you need to do something really quickly and you'll be out soon."
Y/N looked up at Harry, planning on defying him and then she thought about it. She would never be alone with Harry again and she had wanted to meet him—talk to him in person—for years. Perhaps she should listen.
She took her phone out and sent a quick text to Liam.
Hey babe. Running late, meet you out the front in a few? Sorry for taking so long xox
Harry gave her an approving look as they heard Liam's phone go off and he headed back down the hallway, leaving the school.
"Okay, you have five minutes, what?" She asked Harry.
The Harry in her head looked like the Harry before her except for the attitude. Her Harry was sweet, funny and romantic. Harry, though funny, didn't seem to have anything sweet in him.
"Cute," Harry said and she looked up seeing one corner of his mouth was turned up in a smile.
"What is?" She asked.
"You," he grinned and Y/N grinned back. Then her smiled faded as he kept looking her up and down. Y/N squirmed uncomfortably under his scrutiny. He was looking at her like...like a piece of meat, ogling her. This was not how she imagined Harry would look at her; she imagined kindness to shine from his eyes and a feeling of safety to wrap around her.
Right now, all she felt was...uncomfortable.
"Look Harry," Y/N said, raising her eyes to his. "I really need to go," she said firmly, trying to get him to shake off the look of a stranger checking out the best piece of ass. He didn't.
"Oh Y/N, I have been waiting to meet you for over ten years and you're just going to walk away from me?" He shook his head. "I thought we were friends, best friends."
"We were—are—but Harry, I really need to go. I'll—I'll talk to you later, tonight, okay?" He gave her a curious look.
"No girl," he said slowly, "has ever walked away from me. It is unfamiliar and quite disconcerting. I don't like it very much but it seems to make you far more endearing. I enjoy a good chase, Y/N," he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "But be warned, I am quite good at catching what I want."
Y/N looked at him with disgust and shoved past him.
So this was who her best friend really was, an asshat that liked to use girls. Well, she wasn't going to be one of them.
"If I had known this is what you were really like," she said, hand on the door knob, turning to face him, "I never would have kept writing to you."
Harry drummed his fingers in time with the music on the steering wheel of his car.
He was driving to a local corner store, a mini mart of sorts, to get some things for his grandmother. He didn't mind helping her. She was letting him live with her, rent free and even gave him money for doing her favours. Harry didn't want to take it, but she was pushy and would put it in his wallet while he was asleep.
He smiled at the thought.
"I never would have kept writing to you."
His smile fell as that unpleasant thought worked its way into his mind and he slammed his hand, hard, on the steering wheel, berating himself. He couldn't believe how bad his meeting with Y/N went. He was such an ass. He knew he was, he could proudly admit it and also admit to the fact that there was no hidden reason behind his being an ass, no woman who scorned him, no abusive relationship with his parents and no reason at all.
Except that he was an ass and he enjoyed being an ass.
Mostly.
His arrogance only got him so far in life. Sometimes he would have to reel it in and suck up his pride and stop being an ass. Perhaps he should have done that with Y/N.
She had always been there for him, since he was six years old and first received her letter. When he found out she was a girl he was instantly annoyed, girls had cooties, but he wrote back anyway. That stupid egg headed boyfriend of hers had  called her baby and Harry had to suppress a laugh at that, he had had so many babies in his short life and knew that more would come. But there is only one Y/N
It had been a week since Y/N had spoken to him and if she did look at him, she glared. It bothered Harry, more than he was willing to admit, that this girl he had known for so long—and had finally met—may hate him. He had no one but himself to blame, it was easy to act differently when typing on a computer or writing a letter.
Harry only acted that way with family and very close friends. Never had he acted the way he had with Y/N with any other girl. He had never given them special nicknames or blown off parties to 'hang out'. He never stayed up all night talking or anxiously awaiting a reply.
He had never wanted someone like he wanted Y/N.
Not in a physical way, although she was remarkably good looking. He wanted Y/N on an emotional level too. He wanted to kiss her if he wanted and do things to her he had done before with other girls, but he also wanted to be able to talk to her, to tell her how he felt and have her listen and in turn, listen to her.
Was this love he was feeling? Had he fallen in love with the girl who never wrote in cursive and never stuck to one pen colour?
Harry thought about it and a startling revelation came to him.
He was most definitely in love with Y/N.
There was no other way to explain his feelings and even—dear god!—the silly grin that was now on his face as he thought about it. He pulled up to a red light and groaned, hitting the steering wheel.
I'm in love with my best friend and treated her like crap.
God he was stupid.
Y/N had been a constant in his life. He had always been able to turn to her for comfort and she had turned to him. He knew more about her than anyone probably did. He knew that when her mother left, Y/N had cut one line along her wrist and then looked at herself in disgust for doing it because her mother didn't deserve her blood. He knew that she hadn't spoken to her mother—Val—since she walked out, and he knew what her father would call her when he was drunk.
He knew her favourite colours, movies, T.V. shows, books and what she wanted to do. He knew her fears and her dreams. He knew that she loved carrots and detested broccoli. He knew that she would only ever dot her I's with hearts if hell froze over, and she liked to draw smiley faces on the toes of her converse.
He smiled thinking about it all and then he saw her in his memory, the way she had looked when he had first laid eyes on her and his heart sped up.
I am in love, aren't I?
He didn't understand how he was in love. He always thought he would fall in love when he was older. He knew Y/N, inside and out and he realised that he had been falling in love with her, slowly, since that first letter and had been in love with her long before he saw her.
Harry jolted with surprise at that, as the light turned green and he continued to drive, he was shallow. He knew it. He only ever paid attention to a girl if she was good looking and flaunted it; tight tops, pants, short skirts, the lot. If you didn't have any of that, he wasn't interested.
With Y/N it was different, he had never seen her before and yet he always wanted to spend his time with her. Re-reading her letters, seeing if she was online, anything really. He made excuses to stay in and talk to her. He would rush home if he knew he would receive a letter from her and butterflies would go crazy in his stomach as he saw the envelope.
She always wrote on nice stationery and sprayed the letter with perfume.
He loved going on her words, tracing them with his fingers.
God, Harry thought as he pulled into the car park for the store and got out, locking his silver Audi and moving to the entrance of the store.
He froze for a moment, the last thought in his mind, whirring around as he looked at the one person behind the counter and his heart soared. They didn't see him and he ducked into an aisle as he calmed his heart and that thought that was still nagging at him.
God, I'm in love with Y/N.
#####
"Isabella, I only have a short break, what do you want?"
Y/N held the phone against her ear and shoulder as she listened to Isabella babble about the upcoming school dance. She rolled her eyes, her school had too many dances. This one was a welcoming back dance, although it wasn't scheduled for another month or so, but Isabella always had to start preparing early.
"I'm thinking blue, maybe. I think I look good in blue and gold for you. Maybe not blue, that would clash with the gold. I know, red! I'll wear red and gold and you can wear gold and red!" She chirped excitedly.
"What's the difference?" Y/N asked, opening her chocolate bar.
"Red is my feature colour, so it will be the colour of my dress and nails and lip stick and I will have gold shoes and accessories. Gold will be your feature colour and red you sub colour. Duh Y/N, have I taught you nothing?"
She rolled her eyes, thankful that Izzy couldn't see her.
"Alright, but red and gold remind me of curtains."
"Curtains?"
"Yeah, like older mansions always had red curtains and gold ropes and poles," she shrugged. "Reminds me of curtains, plus, red doesn't go with skin tone.”
"So what colour would you suggest for yourself?"
"Black."
There was a pause and then Isabella yelled into the phone.
"Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N! You are not going to another dance in a black dress! For the love of God! Wear some colour!"
"But black is—"
"Black is a colour you wear once in a while. Not. At. Every. Social. Function," Isabella ground out and Y/N winced. "That's it! I managed to get you to dress like a girl everyday now I have to get you to dress in colours when we go out. I am scheduling a shopping trip...Two weeks before the dance. For now, we will browse online."
"Isabella—"
"What are you wearing right now?"
"A skirt and top."
"Elaborate, Y/N. Shape, colour, design?"
She sighed but continued, knowing Isabella wouldn't stop until she had an answer.
"A green skirt that is longer at the back and zips up the front and a white tank top tucked into the waist band of the skirt. My shoes are white enclosed with a wedge heel design and I am wearing gold bracelets and a silver necklace with a heart on it."
"Good girl, see? If it weren't for me, you'd be dressed like Will." Y/N didn't try to deny it.
"Isabella, I really think—"
"No excuses. It's written. It's done. Get your fabulously dressed butt back to work and call me later."
Isabella hung up and Y/N stared at the phone for a moment before sighing and putting it back in her bra—girl's gotta do what a girl's got to do—and headed back out to the register, where Mr. Stark had been managing the register.
Mr. Stark owned the small convenience store that Y/N worked at and had been good friends with her father—still was apparently, and she got the job with no problems. The pay was good and the hours flexible.
Smiling at the old man, she took her seat behind the register and waited, flipping through a magazine as she did. She heard the bell above the door chime but didn't look up, until she felt a tingle go through her and when she looked, no one was there. She frowned and then shrugged. They probably went down an aisle.
Returning to her magazine, Y/N thought through Isabella's words.
Did she need to wear more colours? Did Isabella have a point in helping her change her wardrobe from drabby to, as she says, fabby?
Looking down at herself, her style had definitely changed and Y/N liked it, maybe she should stop wearing black dresses to every dance.
Y/N saw in her peripheral a customer approach and stowed her magazine away, scanner in hand. Looking up she saw, to her dismay, who it was that was placing the items down. Locking her jaw, she decided not to acknowledge him and started scanning and placing in the paper bags that Mr. Stark used, insisting it was better than plastic. When she finished scanning, she was annoyed to find that she had to acknowledge his presence.
"Will that be all?" She asked, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. The green seemed to blaze into her.
"I think so, Y/N." The name was like a caress and Y/N had to suppress a shiver of delight. "Actually," Harry amended and Y/N looked up from typing in the total. "One more thing, when do you get off?"
"Do you use that line on every girl?" She asked, typing in the total as Harry fished bills from his wallet and handed them to her.
"Only girls I like." Y/N didn't pause in counting his change, but his words caused a thrill to go through her. "So, when do you get off?"
"Why?" She asked, handing him back his change.
"Because I want to talk, don't friends usually talk?"
"Friends yes, I wasn't aware we were friends Harry," she responded, still refusing to meet his gaze.
"Y/N," He sighed. "What I said, it was completely out of line. I—I'm sorry. I was so nervous meeting you. I mean, you imagine something for so long you want it to go perfectly and then you lose all sense and start blabbering." He ran a hand through his hair and Y/N finally met his gaze.
She could see that he was sorry, in the depths of green there was regret.
"I get off at 4," she said, which was an hour away.
"Would you mind—would you mind if I took you home?"
Y/N looked up at him and saw that he was nervous. Harry had always seemed so confident in his letters and typing that she hadn't thought he could get nervous and with his looks, she thought there was no need. Although what he had said to her still hurt, she had known Harry was a player, he had told her as much, but she had never thought—never imagined—that he would treat her like one of those countless other girls, and that hurt more than words could describe.
Her decision was made as she quickly mulled that over and she told him her answer.
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austajunk · 3 years
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Game of Despair (fic)
Chapter One: Despair Gamer
Summary: Surviving through her massive injuries following the ending of the Despair Arc, Chiaki Nanami has fallen after her fellow classmates have become Remnants of Despair. However, when altercations with a certain Servant brings up the chance to find a special person that she lost once again, Chiaki and the aforementioned problematic Servant have no choice but to traverse the apocalypse to bring Izuru Kamukura back to the light of Hope…maybe!
Rating: Mature (because duh)
Warnings: Gore, death, general manipulation and Remnants of Despair Shenanigans
A/N: Hey there. Originally this was a fan comic on tumblr that I did, but due to the scale of the project, I decided it would work better as a fic. The introduction to this fic is different from the fan comic just so I could keep things fresh to write. Please enjoy! You can also find this fic on AO3 if you prefer to read there. I’ll link later.
Games were supposed to be fun. Anyone could play them and they could be played together. It didn’t matter if it was a bad game or if the person you were playing with had any talent whatsoever. It wasn’t the point. The point was to get closer to another person.
At least, that was the philosophy Chiaki Nanami once went by. Games were something that made her happy, but another thing that chained her down at the same time. By being the Super High School Level Gamer, she was locked to her beloved talent and didn’t see any way to open herself to others. That was until she met Hajime Hinata and her teacher, Chisa Yukizome, had showed the strawberry-haired gamer that it was possible to form all the connections she wanted in her life through her talent. For the first time in her life, she had started to feel complete at Hope’s Peak Academy. She was the Class Representative of a band of Ultimate students who were anything but normal... but she loved them with all her heart.
Until the claws of Despair ripped everything away from her, that was. Chiaki Nanami was now a shell of her former self, but that was okay. With her mind filled with nothing but an urge to induce chaos, she couldn’t feel anything for the person she once was. If she couldn’t remember that person, what were they really worth?
The fiery skies poured overhead and mixed with the blackness of the night. There was no possible way to see the stars anymore at this point so deep into the end of the world. The only light that could be seen was from a small Nantendo game screen flickering. A girl with pink hair and discolored pink and red eyes leaned against some wreckage, watching as several people ran from demolished buildings and screamed in anguish for their loved ones. Children, women, and even grown men sobbed as a waterfall of bullets cascaded down on their bodies from above.
“You’re losing, you know?” The gamer sighed, twirling a small finger around some of her peach-tinted hair.
On her game screen, a hoard of bullets were raining down on a mass of zombies, massacring them on her side of the screen. The zombie side was fading pitifully fast, their organs squishing from the onslaught of shots.
Beside Chiaki, a man was trembling with the Nantendo in his hand. Sweat was pouring down the front of his head and his breathing was heavy. It looked as though the pale-faced man was going to pass out at any moment. His eyes were blood shot. He had been at this for hours, all to keep the game going and going and going... but it felt like one big, mad, never-ending spiral. He just wanted to drop the game, but all his hostages and prizes were dying all around him the moment he showed any weakness. A large black collar around his neck was tightening every time a point fell from his score. His throat was so constricted that his lips were starting to get purple.
Oh well, Chiaki thought. She was starting to get bored of this anyways. It was really sad though. For a few sweet moments, she had felt an exhilaration like no other. Her entire body had tensed, heat caking her cheeks. She wanted to drop the game and throw herself at the poor man beside her, to rub her curvaceous body against him until she got off on human contact alone when his score had gotten ahead. But alas, that sort of contact had started to wane on his score... and Chiaki’s interests.
“This is disappointing,” said Chiaki, obliterating the rest of the man’s score. Her side of the screen flashed WINNER in big bright red letters and the man beside her squealed in terror. He started convulsing and screaming, the air in his lungs dissipating fast until he seized over and fell over. His eyes bulged from his skull and his neck was bruised and purple until a satisfying crack sounded from his neck. Well... as satisfying as Chiaki could imagine it anyways.
Watching the man’s corpse go limp, she dropped her handheld game console beside him and simply fished another one from her black and white bear-shaped bag. She tapped the screen to life and began to jab at the buttons as though she wasn’t lying beside someone's corpse on top of a bunch of debris underneath a smoke-encrusted sky of darkness. But that was just the world.
Shrieks and screams of agony littered the sky, joining together to create a chaos-induced despair. It was probably the biggest death count Chiaki had earned so far. Her victim, to his credit, had lasted a total of thirteen hours before his score declined and Chiaki’s interest dropped. It was pleasurable until he waned. Now Chiaki was content to just let the cries in the night be silenced as the conclusion of their game (with real human casualties) and to just get up and leave. She did so, leaving her purple game console with the man’s corpse as memento and something of her personal signature. All the world would know where to find the person who could bring the greatest challenge of a killing game to them and that was what she wanted.
The gamer longed to find someone who could beat her and make her feel alive again. Or to feel anything at all. Even if Chiaki knew that she was nowhere close to feeling anything anymore. “My purpose... is Despair,” she uttered to no one in particular, merely touching her forehead as though to remind herself of that fact. It was foolish to stray, foolish to want or desire anything in such a world. Something like that almost seemed like a spec of Hope was left in her heart... which was impossible once the legendary Junko Enoshima snuffed it out.
Thanks to Junko, all the games in the world would not suffice to bring Chiaki Nanami back. One by one, she had been forced to watch her classmates fall into Despair, to watch them torture, massacre and rape others in Junko’s image. Chained to a wall, she watched for over a year as blood sprayed across a dingy massive screen that Junko had left her to view the carnage. She had been tormented and stuck in Hope’s Peak Academy until the last inch of Hope was executed from her body, until she finally wavered and gave into Despair. With the last specs of good will drained from her, the chains around her neck slipped off and she was allowed to walk free in this ruined world... where it felt entirely purposeless to live. But that was the point.
Everything was ruined. Her life was only good for making everyone else experience her own personal Despair. And Chiaki had set to it.
And as far as she was concerned, games were meant to be shared with everyone. Even the bad ones…
On the eastern side of a Towa city, a dingy and caved-in subway had been remodeled into a small chamber for the Despair Gamer. She always returned there to rest or to just recollect herself whenever she was bored or wanted to avoid the other Despairs. A bunch of pillows were tucked together for a makeshift gaming chair that she was slumped over, absorbed in one of her prized Nantendo titles.
Only the soft clinking of chains from behind roused her attention ever so slightly.
“Ah… that guy from before didn’t keep you occupied for long, did he?” Said a carefree voice behind Chiaki as she played. “For a moment, it looked like he was really doing it for you.”
Chiaki tilted her head, sinking back into her cushioned gaming chair. It wasn’t hard to figure out who the other presence in this fortress of death was, so she didn’t bother to look at him as he went to work on disposing of the body. What she didn’t notice however was that her Servant wasn’t empty-handed. He had entered the chamber with a large burlap sack… one that was squirming eerily.
Nagito Komaeda. To say he gave into Despair wasn’t quite so accurate. Hope would always win in the end… but it had to be challenged, cultivated… yes, becoming Despair was only meant to encourage Hope. And that was why he belonged to the other Remnants of Despair. He was theirs to use as they saw fit, but he just could not help returning to her again and again. Chiaki Nanami was like a serial killer by now… one complete with a soft, pudgy face and wide, innocent eyes. Utterly fascinating that one so lovely and gentle could rip apart so many people. Despair really had power over others… an alluring, undeniable, sick and twisted power… all Servant wanted to do was be there to witness Hope shatter the monster before him that Despair had created.
But until that happened… oh, how thoughts of Junko Enoshima made the heat swell through every inch of his body…
As if craving her attention, Servant spoke to her again. She could practically feel the grin etched on his face. “Have you gotten so used to the stench of death, Chiaki? You’re actually letting the corpses decompose around you now…” He nodded his head to rotting cadavers left at the back of the room. Perhaps Chiaki had forgotten they were there?
Chiaki’s lips twitched into a small frown, more so from being interrupted. Servant was a strange one. He had something familiar about him, like someone she should remember but it simply did not occur to her to try and do so. If he caused no reaction in her, then that was all there was to it whether she recalled him or not. The pale-haired boy seemed to follow her about like a puppy-dog, sometimes aiding her in procuring or disposing of victims whenever they met up. Chiaki had considered simply killing him, but something in her intuition told her that playing a Killing Game with the likes of him simply wasn’t a wise choice. And straight up slaughtering him was too kind, too merciful. How was she to invoke Despair in the name of Junko Enoshima if she simply hacked up his body?
And so, Chiaki found herself lifting her head at the jostling of chains behind her, watching the metal links swing side to side from around the Servant’s neck. He had a large grin painted on his face as he always did, taking a seat across from her in her little chair. “I guess the smell of death caught me off guard last time,” she mused thoughtfully to him, uncaring if he was really here for conversation or not. He did as he pleased and proved to be quite the clingy individual. But so long as he did the dirty work, Chiaki didn’t mind occasionally indulging him.
“It made me sick... but... now I don’t smell anything. I wonder if I’ve destroyed my sense of smell. Or my brain simply cares less and less each time...” Chiaki said with sigh, curling up in her chair and reaching for her games again. “Why did you come back?” It was really annoying when Chiaki was content to be left alone with her games for the rest of eternity. Alas victims were hard to come by in the apocalypse. Something about people wanting to salvage their lives. She couldn’t understand that. People were going to be slaughtered en masse either way, so shouldn’t they be trying to find the best way to have fun?
That was what Ultimate Despair Gamer was for. To teach others that life was just one big game and if they weren’t having fun, well... their lives didn’t amount to much, did they?
Servant tilted his head at her, his green eyes holding her emotionless gaze for a moment. “Oh, yes! I actually brought you another gift. I don’t want to be too optimistic, but…” He gestured to the struggling brown sack beside him. “I think this may really be the one. If he can’t satisfy you a little more than your usual prey, then I’ll take full responsibility…”
“Hm?” Chiaki stood up and slowly drifted over to the squirming sack that the Servant had left in the middle of the room. A gift? For her? A light blush crept onto her cheeks as she approached the bag and knelt down to pull it back. As soon as she saw the victim awaiting her, a jolt of electric joy shot through her. She gasped lightly and watched as the person’s light chestnut hair spiked up into her view. This was... No... why was the sight of the person’s hair inspiring such a range of emotions on her face? Her eyes lit up and a shudder ran through her body. She wanted to pull the captive close to her already.
Lightly, she pulled the gag from his lips and let him cough and sputter. He wanted to scramble away from the bizarre Gamer, but she quickly grabbed ahold of his shoulders and urged him closer to her. Her breasts rested against his front and she nuzzled him almost affectionately. Startled by the cute girl’s sudden comforting presence, the man didn’t want to feel at ease, especially with her twisted smile flashing down upon him. But at the same time... she seemed harmless. Perhaps a little deranged? But soft and pretty enough... He shakily steadied her against him, wondering if she was the prisoner of this strange, messed up death chamber just like he was. He barely took notice of the boy behind her with the manic grin and kept his eyes trained on her.
“Wh-Where am I...?” The chestnut-haired student asked her. At least, he appeared to be a student with his plain white uniform and dark trousers. A pair of glasses rested askew on his nose. “Are you a prisoner too?! Did that guy kidnap you?”
Chiaki couldn’t help but to tense at the guy’s caring voice, the way he put concern for her before anything else. Even himself. It felt so familiar and she was melting on the inside. Her face became more twisted, more heated and aroused. This was the one! He had to be the one! He was going to play with her until she could finally lie down and let the cold grip of death eclipse her. A final game where she could be happy, fulfilled, complete—
“What’s your name?” Chiaki asked him lightly, trying to hide the frantic blush on her cheeks. This was so embarrassing. Her heart was fluttering for him.
“Ahhh? Oh... Um, Yusuke?” The man responded, looking around. “Look, why don’t we try to find a way out of here before that guy shows up again? That mastermind!”
“Hm?” Chiaki crossed her legs. “Oh... him. He doesn’t matter. What matters is... well... do you like games, Yusuke?” Her soft voice almost held a low purr to it.
Suddenly, there was a sense of unease in the air. Yusuke blinked and pushed up his glasses. “Um...games?”
A small tear trickled over the pale, dead face of her latest victim. After hours and hours and hours of gaming, Yusuke had simply crumpled over. All throughout the week, he had kept Chiaki occupied. Even when he sobbed to her and begged her to let him go, Chiaki was completely enthralled with him. Not a single one of her victims had been so satisfying. He must have truly adored her to keep up such a unique concentration to whatever game she picked out for them to play. He cared for her... he must have loved her to play with her all this time. But then... it was as though his body simply gave out.
Now Yusuke’s corpse decorated the floor of her room, his body still warm from how hard it had worked to bring her even an ounce of joy. Chiaki lingered beside him, her face twisted with what could truly be called Despair. It wasn’t fair. He loved her. Why did he break under all the gaming? She could go forever...
Servant watched her from the corner of the chambers, a small sigh leaving his lips. Something about her actions had slightly disturbed him. For close to a week, he had watched Chiaki become truly elated. It was like she was a different person. And now the young man he had offered up to her was nothing more than a body getting colder by the moment. She drained every last agonizing bit of life from him. It was so thoughtless, so empty…
“I wonder why you don’t just let them rest…” He said, stepping forward as if to pull Chiaki away from the body. “Oh well. I’ll find you a new toy. That will satisfy you!” What hollow words. There was nothing out there that could satisfy the monster before him. That was probably the most horrifying thing about her… but it made him utterly enthralled with her.
“...It’s never going to be enough...” Chiaki said solemnly as she heard the rustling of chains clinking in the background. She knew Servant was behind her, waiting for the body to be disposed of, but Chiaki didn’t want to let it go.
“This was the... the best one... and he wasn’t even enough. Nowhere close... He was like a barrel of love... and I need an ocean... I...I...” She trembled, stifling a sob. Even as a Remnant of Despair, it wasn’t like she lacked feelings... even if they were only centered on herself and self-preservation.
She sighed a hollow bitter sigh and stood up, giving Yusuke’s body a savage kick with her boots. After watching the dirt from her shoes smear his cheek, she turned around and walked past Servant.
“The person you’re searching for… he doesn’t exist anymore…”
Chiaki suddenly clutched her chest tightly as though she were in pain. There was an unbearable pounding in her head. Make it stop… it had to stop… why couldn’t she ignore it?
“I’m not staying here. I’m... I’m going to leave. I want to find something else...something I lost.” The words left her lips before she even realized it. She could almost envision that person with the same chestnut hair and soft, sincere smile. But she didn’t remember his name... not a bit…
Just as she headed to the entrance of the chamber that Servant was leaning against, a foot suddenly kicked up to block her exit. She stepped back and looked at Servant, a frown working onto her gentle features.
“Ah… I thought we may hit this little snag,” Servant said, his smile fading slightly. “You’ve lost a lot of things. It won’t help you to search for all of them! More than likely, you’ll never find anything!” He put his hands together, pleading. “Let me find you another toy! The next one will satisfy you for sure.”
“What..? I…” Chiaki blinked and rubbed her eyes. Those words were making her feel just a tad woozy.
“There, there,” Servant cooed, entwining his arm with hers to lead her away from the door. “Won’t you stay here with me, Chiaki? Just for today… don’t look for what you can’t find. Just stay here today.” Forever. He intended to keep her as long as he could. Hope had to be protected.
And the person she wanted… that same person lit up his entire world as well. The thoughts of that person…
“Chiaki, just stay here… ah, I know,” said Servant behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, “let’s play a game together. You and me. If you win—“
“Then I leave,” muttered Chiaki. Then she blinked again in realization.
The smell of this chamber was starting to get to her. Perhaps it was because the last toy truly was something she did like. She couldn’t stop playing with him until he broke. But Chiaki wasn’t looking at the remnants of her beloved toy anymore. Instead, she peered at the filthy walls and floors of her game chamber. Decayed bits of body parts were strewn about across the floor and the stench was starting to become invasive again.
How long had she been in these chambers? She couldn’t remember when she had first entered, only that soon after, the Servant had appeared. He would scavenge for food and toys for her, to keep her occupied and “satisfied” with any new playthings he happened to procure. Chiaki groaned, her head feeling a bit heavy. “Ungh...” She clutched her face, trying to ignore the stench of death wafting in the air. Something about the charming spell of this place was starting to wear off fast and she quite despised it.
Chiaki shook her head, trying to brush off the sickening realization that she just didn’t know how long she had been in a chamber like this, playing games with toy after toy after toy. How many had she killed? Well... they existed to please her, so it didn’t matter. But... when had she last stepped outside? When had she tried to leave? Every time she had risen from her chair to peer out into the world, the Servant would give her a friendly wave and insist that he would go out to bring her food or more toys. It was all just too irksome.
She turned back to Servant. “I want to leave.”
“Of course. If you’re ready, you’ll win,” said Servant cheerfully, waving his obscured hand. “But if I win… hmm… how about this? For every game you lose against me, I’ll alter your appearance just a little…”
“Alter my appearance…?”
Servant nodded, motioning for her to take a seat back in her Gamer chair.
“That’s right. For every game you fail,” he said, letting his voice trail off just a bit, “I’ll remodel you to look a bit more like Lady Junko Enoshima each time.”
“Of course, are you really sure you want to play?”
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beauregardlionett · 3 years
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from the clouds - prologue & ch i
AO3 Link
Our story begins—like so many others—in Wildemount. Descending through the cloudy overhang hovering over the Truscan Vale, rising along the Bromkiln Hills towards Mount Mentiri in the Cyrios Mountains. Between these points sat Kamordah. This, however, is not where the story begins. Deeper into the woods of the mountains, travelling north of Kamordah along the edges of the Cyrios Mountains, were numerous streams and rivers. Many of the waterways hidden among the warm mountains bore names long forgotten. Should one be lucky enough, they might encounter the spirit of a waterway and learn their name.
Most were not lucky.
According to legend, the spirits of the rivers were benevolent, but cautious. Too many of them fell by the sword of glory hungry adventurers, or became tamed and twisted to the will of mages. It was rare these days to encounter the water spirits known as Imugi. So rare, the mundane populations nearly forgot the name itself in the present.
But the dragons were not gods, and just because they were forgotten did not mean they ceased to exist. There existed several breeds of dragons—some better known than others. Imugi, however, were not full dragons—they were considered of lower stature and lesser power than their fully dragon counterparts. Imugi required outside intervention to become fully realized dragons—an orb of power known as a yeouiju. That, or to have lived and acquired knowledge over one thousand years of life.
In a twist of sick irony, the god that created the Imugi faded from knowledge and power over time in the material plane, lost to legend and memory. Their power waned as it was wont to do, and the yeouiju sent hurtling from the heavens to the material plane came less and less frequently.
This, however, is still not where the story begins.
It begins in the fringe woods north of Kamordah and due east of Mount Mentiri, on the banks of a tumbling river. Lined with trees whose ancient roots stretched above and below the soil to the water, their branches housing birds and fauna of all sorts. Between the current and the river rocks swam fish and otters, beavers and frogs. Flowers grew a short trot from the banks, and wildlife visited the river for the life it begat.
There, tucked away and hidden among the rocky face of a short overhang, was a hollow. Screened over by trailing moss and lichen, an absent traveller would miss the opening entirely.
This is where the story begins.
-
Beauregard does not remember how she learned her name.
Her creation was a simple thing. The river she called home came into existence a couple hundred years ago. She crawled out from between the river rocks beneath the tumbling current, willed into existence by a god fading from human memory. Her name—her real name—was something she had always known from the moment awareness set in. But the trees and the animals that took up residence on her banks named her Beauregard.
The spirits of the forest that lived around her took care of Beau, taught her their common tongue instead of the warbling, watery language Beau spoke intrinsically. The fish understood when she ate a few of them, and the red-tailed doe that visited the water allowed Beau to play with her fawns. They all encouraged Beau, cheered her on, as she stumbled through comprehending her powers, her abilities, and her frustrating limitations.
Beau could not fly, nor stray too far into the woods from her river without weakening and losing her breath. She learned her lesson the hard way when she was still small and less than twenty years old, carried home by a dryad who had found her gasping and grey less than half a mile from the river. She could not maintain her true Imugi form for too long, lest it sap at her inner reserves of power and magic. And though the river birthed her, though the river was her, Beau’s control over it was abysmally lacking for the first fifty years of her life.
But the spirits all kept encouraging her, pushed Beau to keep practicing. In return, when Beau finally had a handle on it all, she protected them. When the mortals came with axes and gleaming eyes, Beau shifted and roared and scared them away from the trees. The anglers set their nets, and the hunters set their traps, and Beau sabotaged them all. She stalked the banks of her river, eyes mirroring the clear, rushing blue of the water at her feet, and refused to give an inch. This was her river, her friends, and she was the guardian. Nothing would get in her way.
Despite it all, Beau was not content. Her chest began to feel hollow after a hundred years in her river. The monotony of her days, the metaphorical chain at her ankles, tethering her to these banks, was dreary. She longed to fly, to explore the heavens above, and to wield a storm at her fingertips. Beau knew—just knew—that Imugi could do more, be more. The stories and the knowledge all sat inside of her without prompt. Beau needed a yeouiju, needed that orb of power to help her rise above the treetops.
The dryads let Beau climb up their trunks and among their branches. They let her wiggle through the topmost canopy of their crown and witness the wind on her cheeks and dancing through her hair. The thrill in her veins from the dizzying height tasted of flying in the paltriest sense of the word. But it was enough to fuel her determination.
Which was why Beau remained so determined to find a yeouiju of her own, to ascend into higher stature and power. However, she knew the dwindling knowledge of her kind afforded fewer chances to Imugi like her to gain a yeouiju. Lack of knowledge and faith meant the god that created Imugi was fading from power and existence. It took more out of them to create yeouiju now than it had hundreds of years before.
These facts did not daunt Beau’s resolve, though.
Regardless of the tedium, every day she swam the length of her river charge, eyes on the heavens. She would consult schools of fish on their numbers, give them directions, rearrange river rocks, and tend to the flora on the banks of her river. She would protect the dryads, aide the birds with their nests, collect sticks and branches for the otters and beavers, and befriend the visiting fauna. Throughout each daily chore, Beau waited. At night, when the current babbled calmly over her stones and banks, she watched the heavens. The stars would twinkle back at her, each distant flash stoking a false flame of hope in Beau’s chest. Each time her aging heart would leap, thinking this might be her falling orb, her chance at last.
Each morning, the sun greeted her dwindling patience with empty warmth.
“Haven’t you ever heard the term, a watched pot never boils?” Caleb asked her one evening. He ruffled the feathers of one wing as he groomed his beak through his primaries.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you spend too much time eavesdropping on humans?” Beau retorted, voice sharp and bitter. Caleb did not rise to the bait, but he gave her a knowing look before returning to his task.
Caleb was an eagle, and a handsome one at that. His chest dappled white down into a russet color that encompassed his lower torso, legs, and coverts. His secondary and primary feathers dappled white and dark grey, long and prideful. Caleb’s eyes were a point of interest, however; a deep, beady brown shot through with a violet blue. Beau had asked him about his eyes once, and Caleb said they were odd for a bird like him.
He was intelligent and annoying, but an excellent teacher in all things beyond her banks, and Beau loved him like family. Granted, it had taken them until Beau was in her early seventies and a near brush with death to get there, but they got along fine now. Sometimes, when Caleb was in a good mood, he would let Beau assist in his meticulous grooming process.
Beau knew all the spirits who lived on and visited her banks, but there were a select few she kept closer than the rest. Caleb was the only one of that few who did not live on her shores permanently. He came and went with the wind and the weather, bringing Beau stories and trinkets from his travels. She had long ago learned to tamp down on the bitter jealousy with each journey Caleb brought back.
Summers were the worst, when the storms rolled in with warmer weather that made Beau roil in vicious hatred. They were awesome displays of power, and she knew dragons controlled these storms—dragons that had once been Imugi like her. If she focused hard enough, Beau could summon a mild cloud cover, but never more. She could not bring forth rain, let alone thunder and lightning. Her powers barely extended past the banks of her river.
“That looked great,” Caduceus encouraged from the banks of the river, his tone a pleasant drawl. Beau huffed with frustration as her chest heaved with exertion. Water droplets clung to her bare calves where she stood in the river, hair a loose mess as tendrils hung in her eyes and stuck to her sweaty temples.
“Don’t patronize me, Caduceus,” Beau snapped, clenching her fists so hard her blunt nails almost broke the skin of her palms. “That wasn’t any better than last time.”
“Maybe not,” Caduceus agreed as he lifted the lid on his white stone teapot to inspect the state of its contents. “But it’s better than two weeks ago. Progress is progress.”
Beau wanted to yell at him for his constant positivity, his endless faith in her. But she stopped short, knowing he only meant well and was not actively trying to patronize her. Besides, he was right. Two weeks ago, Beau had struggled to maintain the rolling fog she created for two minutes. Now she could hold it for almost ten. But it wasn’t enough. Every attempt she made today in trying to raise the fog higher, to make it into clouds that would rain, had failed. The cover never lifted higher than her knees.
Giving another frustrated huff, Beau kicked at the water, only growing more upset when it parted around her foot and she missed entirely. It was a funny thing, her relationship with the river. She existed as the river, and the river lived in her, but they also existed as two separate entities. When she stepped out of the water, it did not follow. She could ask the water to do things for her, but it did not always listen. Beau tried to explain it once to Caduceus and the other dryads, ended up having an existential crisis, and never brought it up again.
Trudging from the water and up onto the banks, Beau plopped down in the grass beside Caduceus with a mighty exhale. The second her feet left the water, the bone deep exhaustion set in. Every time, it reminded Beau why she shouldn’t push herself and tug at her magic for hours on end—even after all these years.
Caduceus passed her a steaming cup of tea with a knowing look and a gentle pat to her damp kneecap.
“That’s probably enough practicing for one day. Drink up and then maybe we can track down the others for lunch.”
“Yeah,” Beau mumbled around the rim of her teacup as she blew on the steaming liquid. Her face felt tight and flush with disappointment. “Sure.”
The summer days passed in a blur of scorching sunlight and overcast rainstorms. Beau took every opportunity afforded to practice her magic, to draw upon the well inside her until it sat nearly dry. It wasn’t a healthy or wise idea, but Beau had never been known for her wisdom.
On one such day summer day, a storm raging with a rare ferocity above, Beau lay coiled in her hollow, the water dappled scales along her spine shifting restlessly. The stone offered shelter from the wind and rain howling outside the walls. The lichen and moss whipped back and forth with wild abandon in the storm, the shallow water at the front of her hollow disturbed by the movement and the rain. Beau cared for none of it. Bright blue eyes trained on the clouds, she tracked each strike of lightning, shuddered with every crack of thunder. Her mind was far from the thrashing lichen, from the soaked banks of her river, longing to know the thrill of controlling the storm.
There was a flash among the clouds, vivid white and searing purple and achingly bright. Beau’s head popped up, eyes wide and nose twitching as the burn of ozone filled the air. Thunder raged like a mournful cry and rattled Beau’s bones.
Something glowing fell from the darkened clouds.
Heart racing and veins throbbing with adrenaline, Beau shot from her hollow with a speed unknown. Heedless of the surrounding storm, Beau’s eyes locked in on the orb hurtling from the heavens toward her.
This was her chance. This was her yeouiju.
Beau could now fly in the loosest sense of the word—a discovery made a mere month ago that had filled her with joy but now was a frustration. She often made it to just above the treetops and no higher, lingering in the air for a few minutes before she had to return to the water. Without a yeouiju granting her stronger powers, she could not make it higher into the heavens. Despite this, Beau pushed herself now, straining her ability as much as possible, draining her magical well dry. Desperately, Beau pushed herself to climb higher, claws extending toward this glowing orb, this shining future.
The yeouiju hurtled closer, burning and beautiful. Beau’s heart sung in her chest with victory as her claws closed around the object just above the treetops. It was heavier than anticipated, more tangible than she thought an orb of power might be. She didn’t care, though, because this was it.
Beau didn’t care, even as her clawed foot dipped with the weight of the orb, dragging her whole body a foot or two from the sky toward the ground. She was going to fly.
But instead of the thrill of power, the surge of ascension, the weightlessness of true flight, Beau felt a static buzz singing through her veins. It seared through her as though she had grabbed hold of lightning, whiting out her vision for an instant.
She only realized the object in her claws was not an orb at all as the buzz faded away.
Confused and frustrated, unable to stay in the air any longer, Beau wove her way back to the river, magic all but depleted. Depositing her charge on the damp banks of her home, Beau coiled around herself until she stood small and human on the wet sand.
Through the sheets of rain, she glared down at what she thought would be her yeouiju, finding instead the hulking figure of a woman. Her face lay turned away from Beau, her long, thick hair the blinding white of lightning stuck to her skin like a curtain, obscuring her features. The woman’s fitted tunic was a deep black, smoldering in places and crisscrossed with straps of dark leather. But her arms were bare, the skin alabaster in hue, a stark contrast to the black of her tunic and the rest of her outfit. Finally catching Beau’s attention, though, was her right arm. The skin was marred, covered in sporadic, spiraling veins of fresh scars—evidence of lightning damage—but somehow twisted and wrong.
Unable to help her frustrated curiosity, Beau moved around to stand on the other side of the woman, crouching by her head. Without caution, Beau gathered a handful of the sopping hair from the woman’s face and moved it aside. Slack features and more alabaster skin greeted Beau beneath the hair, a solid blue line of a tattoo curving over a strong chin and down a sloping neck. An oozing gash on the woman’s temple bled sluggishly as her breath stuttered from her lungs.
Beau could not pretend to understand what had happened or how this woman fell from the sky. But she sighed, short and sharp, as she knelt beside the woman in the rain. Lightning stretched across the sky so viciously that for a moment, it was bright as day. Beau flinched as the echoing thunder followed a mere second behind and seemed to shake the very ground.
Her hollow sat nearby, and Beau knew despite her frustration, she would not leave the woman in the rain to die. She was not that heartless.
After some clumsy maneuvering, Beau had the woman draped over her back, the bulk of her figure swallowing Beau’s slighter frame. Her knees shook as she walked over the wet, unsteady sand, but she stayed resolutely upright. Ducking through the lichen screen of her hollow, Beau only stumbled twice with the relief of being out of the wind and lashing rain.
Setting the woman down unceremoniously by the shallow water’s edge, Beau cleaned and dressed the head wound as best as she was able to. Uncertain and wary of the lightning scars, Beau settled on covering them with a healing salve and resolved to ask the dryads for help in the morning.
Scooting to the farthest possible corner of her hollow opposite the unconscious woman, Beau pressed her back to the stone. Bitter and angry and upset, Beau pulled her knees to her chest and folded her arms over her legs. She glared over her forearms at the woman until her eyelids betrayed her and Beau slipped into sleep.
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Theo, across recent timescapes. Theo x life: a series of impressions.
Theo is an invasive agent in Hayden's sensory collection. She's trying to not pay him any mind.
She also tried to erase his self-importance by pretending he didn't exist when she knew he watched with his bridge-burn eyes as she and Liam kissed. Found success in his uncharacteristic silence in a moment that was ruinable.
They are standing in dappled shadows on the forest ground, waiting for Liam, who ran ahead to make a call out of Theo's earshot. Theo is sitting by a tree with his knees up and loosely spread, with his hands in between them. His hands, chained: it's simplest hazard control. Effective, though. Hayden feels spiteful as she's walking left to right, throwing a palm-sized rock from hand to hand. Theo looks bored, irked.
''Where are you going to, little Red Riding Hood?'' Theo addresses her, smooth to self-entertain, making her stop mid-throw, causing the rock to hit her palm and fall on the ground. She picks it up and mimes throwing it at him. Success unfound, in how he doesn't flinch. Success unfound, in how he's making this into a story about a little girl and a sneaky wolf.
She considers him. If answering at all would cater to his amusement, or lesser his situational unpleasantries, which she's trying to avoid. But Theo is in the midway of doing nothing and determined to draw attention to himself, the way he has been.
''We're out of flowers, I'm afraid. Would you like some redwood wood, instead?'' Theo offers in a made-pleasant public service voice. Hayden notices that he's siding with the forest, here, scuttling into its floors where he has found purchase through extended stay.
''You know all the tree species?'' Hayden asks. Takes a bite and wills it into a treat for herself, rather than bait. Theo probably meant the tall and non-wiggly tree he's sitting against; Hayden wonders if he ever studied forestry, or if this is werewolfery knowledge.
''I know better things, too. If you come closer, I'll whisper them to you.'' He grins. Lifts his chained wrists as he adds, ''No pressure, though.''
Hayden considers him. Again and again. This is, she guesses, learnt prudency; a refined taste for justice, maybe. Guesses resurrection does that to you.
''Warning, beware of dog,'' she says.
Theo looks at her, eyes hooding and mouth neutralising. He shrugs, looks sideways. Attention, lost. Trade, declined. Secretful threat traded for blankness, if anything. Hayden, it seems, does not entertain in Theo-ways.
Theo Raeken, it turns out, has a finitude to his spread of catastrophe. Sheriff Stilinski watches cross-armed as running-mouth-boy exposes the culprits of murder; aggravates them like it's his best expertise until they say things they tried not to say and so saves his own slate from police-worthy additions.
Stilinski watches as Theo, for some inexplicable reason, lingers in the police department. Theo is sitting on one of the reception benches, eating a bag of mixed nuts from the vending machine. One would think it's ill-advised, that as soon as Parrish released him, Theo asked Parrish to buy him some goods from the vending machine, said he was detained unfairly. Deprived of food for this short but uneasy time. Didn't have his belongings on him. But it mustn't be nonsensical; it must be some behavioural tactic of making himself appear unconcerned. As having clear consciousness, innocence, all of those.
Stilinski resumes watching through the screen as Theo's chewing slows down when an officer with a police dog walks to the machine. He watches Theo's frowned, suffering, doubtful expression, staring into the dog's eyes like he can't take the dog seriously. The officer stops fishing change out of his wallet with a metal scoop in his cupped hand to shoot Theo a questioning look.
''Everything alright, son?'' the officer jingles the change in his hand, looking Theo over.
Theo's gaze doesn't even change when he looks up. Doesn't turn into a stranglehold of a gaze, either. ''Does your dog bite?''
The officer considers Theo, the sagged, unruffled spectre of him.
''No need to worry,'' he assures. Starts inserting the coins. He then turns to Theo in an afterthought. ''Is someone picking you up? You need anything?''
''Oh,'' Theo breathes, ''for real? Would you? Just something to eat? I've been stuck here waiting.''
Stilinski watches as Theo picks up a protein bar from the machine drawer. Flavoured water, a second later. Probably, apathy comes easily to him. He must not think in any understandable way; rather, he must think unfeelingly. Kid's got— not a care in the world.
Liam is holding a bouquet and inspecting its flowery contents. Frowning at the petals he's scraping at, glowering at the buds he's poking.
In the aftermath of the ceremony ran on the anniversary of Liam's school in the decorated sports hall, his mother is standing by the chairs in unison with another boy watching her son.
She knows him from a photo Liam showed her, a boy new in the school, softly named: Theo. It was evident that Liam took the photo discreetly, which she commented on and which Liam denied. She notes the distance at which Theo keeping and approaches him.
''Don't worry, he's not keeping secrets from his friends,'' she says. ''He doesn't have a girlfriend, at least not that I know of. I was the one who gave him the flowers.''
''Oh?'' Theo says. ''I see.''
He puts his hands in his pockets. He's probably shy. This happens sometimes, with high-school boys, they can become clumsy with themselves. She feels motherly talking to them in moments like this; motherly and pleasant in her efforts to engage adolescents when they are dithering.
''I think he's reconciling masculinity with flowers,'' she comments.
He smiles. Smirks, more like it. They must be close.
''Good colour choice,'' he comments on the orange of the flowers.
She nudges his arm. ''Go talk to him when they're done taking photos.''
Theo shakes his head, shrugs once. ''Nah. I will be leaving soon, anyway,'' he says, and she drops her hand from his arm. He's probably a little shy.
Mediterranean sunrise comes with a surprise: a man awakening on the ground a few steps from the barely-formed footpath. A man, or maybe younger, his Mediterranean awakening accompanied by the smell of fig trees, and all. Kind red soil.
He's naked. He's slowly wiping a hand across his lips. You know, suddenly, that this is a complication. The circumstance makes his body looks like an involuntarily stripped body. Perspective changes: red soil is now needled soil. Acrid tones sour the sunrise.
''Hey,'' you call, stepping closer in your sandals and a coral-printed towel around your neck, feeling unsuitable for the demands of the situation. ''Hey. Are you okay? Should I call the police?''
He's pushing himself up. Not looking at you. Not mindful of the resin at his back. This is indicative, you think, of something, because you're mindful of the way road dust is making your hair dry and webby, while his attention is this narrow, or overall absent.
He looks up, then, at you. ''What?''
A surprise gifted by a foreign agency; not Italian, then. You switch to English and try to make it not clumsy.
''I'll call the police for you,'' you assure him. Scramble to find your phone in your tote bag.
''D'n't call th'police,'' he says. He isn't trying to cover where his body is exposed.
''I don't want to assume anything,'' you say, feeling odd and performative. ''But— Look. I can just call the emergency number and they can direct you to a centre for sexual assault.''
Body, bodily manuscripted into the soft soil. He looks like he's processing slowly. Gets distracted inspecting his hands. Is that blood, you wonder, realise, really, it all just getting worse and fraughter. In between his fingers.
''Don't call th'police,'' he says. ''Was jus' drunk.''
''Is that blood? On your fingers.''
''I jus'. D'n't call. Did s'me things I shouldn't have.'' He reads your face, then says, ''Not like that. T'myself.''
Heat is lowering to the grounds of the morning and your sandals are light on your feet, escape-hairs pleasant, pine trees your favourite. And the hostility-seen boy is trying to act alright.
''It's okay,'' you say, wondering if it is; something complicated about the okayness of not-okay. You squat down, to balance the eye heights. ''I can call the hotline for—''
''No, n't—. Just stupid, no police. Please.''
''Do you want some water,'' you say, taking it out of your bag, and he takes it. Uncaps and smells it, blinking with his nose above the bottle opening, before he shakes his head a little, and starts drinking. Your phone is still in your hand, but you're unsure. You give him your second non-swimly shorts and wait until he overcomes his hesitance and gingerly takes them.
''You don't have to tell me,'' you insist. ''But I'm sure that there's someone who—''
''Thanks. It's okay, you can go now.'' He starts moving to get the shorts on, then swiftly straightens his back, inhaling deeply and looking up. Must be avoiding some hidden ache.
You hesitate, phone in your hand, legs starting to feel stiff from the position.
''I could drive you someplace. My car is ten min—''
''Thanks, but I'm okay now. You can't help,'' he interrupts. There are cases like this one, right, people using caustic means for secret-maintaining ends.
''Are you sure?'' you press. ''I could go away while you're talking to—''
''You're not helping,'' he says, monotone now, now operative and controlled to be alkaline. He's looking at your eyes fixedly, and you stop hesitating. ''You should go.''
Ground gives. You shake your head and start walking away, leaving him with your shorts and thinking then good fucking luck, honey.
You turn back one more time. He's looking at you leaving with unfocused glossy eyes, and you wonder, surely not for the last time, how deeply and stickily swamp-lodged he must be.
A hot guy is walking in the chest-high sea and doing little dives. Grazing the water surface with his fingertips in between and wiping salt from his eyes, before diving again and re-salting his eyes, like some deliberately mindless-seeming cyclical mechanism. Salt for maintenance, salt a nuisance.
Now he bends his knees and only submerges up to his chin, and you imagine he's sensing freshness at his nape.
''You just have to relax,'' you say loudly from where you come to stand in the water to your ankles, ''and you can probably hold your breath for longer than that.''
He stands up and turns until he spots you. You walk closer until the water is at your waist and he's looking at you like someone unexpectedly interrupted. Unexpectedly perceived, unfortunately. A popular kid being addressed by an unpopular one.
''You wanna teach me how to swim?'' he asks and smirks a little, and you shrug.
''If you feel like you can't stay underwater for more than five seconds, it's probably because you're panicking. You can hold your breath comfortably for at least fifteen seconds, I dare say.''
He looks at the glistening in the water, looking weary.
''Can I,'' he says, more of a response made to be unrevealing than a question.
''One thing I'll say,'' you say, untying your hair to avoid breaking it when it will be wet and to be casual, maybe; mitigate the upfrontness and possible insinuation, ''is that your body looks mad functional. Don't take this in any funky way.''
''I won't,'' he says.
Theo is in no space. Some telephone line space.
Should I be taking this personally, Liam texts him. He knows that Theo has been straightforwardly ignoring his messages. He hopes, actually; hopes Theo hasn't run into any of his long-known non-friends who see his face as a face, fanged, and not eyes, often confused, tongue, often tied, responses, often belated. Hopes that Theo isn't not answering because of some surviving anachronism from his past, but rather because of something new. That would be more manageable.
He also hopes that Theo isn't not answering because he is succumbing to his self-damaging instincts, even though that would mean simmering resentment towards Liam; even though that would likely be the best possible option in the precarious array of options in Theo's life.
Liam texts, did you know that if space was infinitely big and infinitely old, it would be white? I don't really get why, do you?
You have a boy couched in your living room. His name is Theo. Picked him up on a staff-only fire escape. It would be a leisurely sight, now, a tracksuit-hoodie-boy sitting right next to a drying rack, which he said he didn't mind. If it wasn't for your rapid heart. Heart: heated, speaking in unit-free measures. Heat: a smooth, unfibrous thing.
''May I,'' he murmurs, and you lean in.
It's a classic student situation: a breathless undertaking to the backtune of wine in tea mugs. He selected a Sierra Nevada mug with a setting sun. Came with the flat.
''Add me on Facebook,'' you say. The two of you haven't even done much, but you feel so hooked, by the fire-escape boy who moves in a way so self-assured and touches indoor objects warily. ''Or Instagram. Wherever you want.''
''I don't use social media,'' he says. He uses his hold on your hand and your finger to push his hair out of his eye. You like the way it parts and hits his temples.
''Phone number?'' You suggest, more joking than not. Exchanging phone numbers feel more joke-like than not.
''No phone number,'' he says. Must see your expression, shrugs and says, ''Guess I'm too old for technology.'' He smirks at the dry look you shoot at him, knowing your age of twenty-three to his twenty-two. He's saying too old and you don't buy it. He carries no weariness in his jaguar body. He takes his lower lip in his mouth. ''What if,'' he then says, ''I'm a vampire.'' He touches the tip of his tongue to his upper teeth.
''My favourite paranormal activity,'' you say.
''Too bad,'' he says, grinning. You look at his ajar lips and think: too bad.
''Your canines are sharp, though,'' you say. ''At least.''
He grins wide. Pointedly and slowly leans towards your neck with an open mouth, until teeth make contact. You feel your smile dropping when his phone beeps. He hesitates for a beat and then leans his forehead on your chin, just breathing there, and you know you are both thinking about him saying no phone number.
''But none for me,'' you say. Because of all the places your bodies have been touching, a beat of silence means: five heartbeats of him staring at his phone, engulfed in the jacket he discarded on the floor by the couch, and you staring at him. And then he leans over, easily shifting your weight, until he can kick the jacket, some, not really achieving anything.
''Another vampire,'' he says, then, on the side of unapologetic. Luckily, you are known to be unresentful. Good at not taking things personally. ''From another brood.'' He places his hands back on your hips.
''Hm,'' you say.  It's fine. The monomania of the green-eye boy is temporary. He's hot, but your desire never lasts, anyway.
There's a guy on your bus ride, on the opposite side of the passage, one seat forward. Your age. You noticed the generic niceness of his face.
He's drawing a sinusoidal curve on the fogged window. Moves his hand further right, where the window is still fogged. Starts drawing vertical lines, carefully, some methodology to it, the lines parallel to each other. He pauses after he draws four. Huffs, twists his smile into one that is hiding and downturned. He crosses the four lines with one that is horizontal, then adds another vertical line to the side.
You feel yourself smile. He drops his hand, shakes his head a little. Looks through the window at the frost-covered barren brown fields, away from his prisoner day-count. It's funny. He's funny. You look away.
It's a short, crude thing. Like this:
A fictitious boy stumbles out of a bare-walled building. Languid, unrestful body. Unleisurely, water-logged body. A tired backstreet play-doh thing. Young.
''Hey,'' you call. ''You. You good?''
The night is warm, humid. A post-rain road construction night. A night for cicadas, if you drive further out.
He inhales in the way of catching breath. Squints at his watch, eyes go glassy. Looks at the moon overhead, then squints at you. And you— you feel awake now.
You look him over, the sugarburn boy with a backwards baseball cap. The trouble of a tooth cavity, which means: okay, if you have some money. Some reckless uncare, too. He's watching you. You inhale slowly, but it turns out all tell-tale anyway. He must see the appeal you feel, in how he licks his lips and tilts his head.
''Interested?'' he asks.
You hesitate. Feel for your jacket pocket with your wallet in it. Lift it without taking it out, clear enough.
He nods. Clears his throat.
''Can you play nice?'' he asks. Teasing, but also not.
You can.
He nods. Looks at his watch. You follow him.
You pick up your pretend-sugar fake-care service by a closed ice-cream stand, its inviting light sign shining red on his face. It's raining lightly when you pull up and he doesn't have his hood up like he knows the wet hair strands sticking to his forehead make him look good. In the car, he has no song requests when you ask.
''How can I service you?'' he asks.
''What should I call you,'' you ask.
''No need to call me,'' he says.
''What if I want to,'' you admit. Not subtle and elusive. If I may be so bold as to in the back of your mouth.
He pauses, thinks. His gaze is saccading empty spot to empty spot and you know the only type of name you'll get is a fake. You'll take it, as a consolation purchase.
''Theo,'' he says.
Alec answers the knock with a toothbrush in his hand.
''Theo. Jesus,'' he breathes.
''Hello,'' Theo responds, overly carefully-crafted for the simplicity of a greeting, but Theo has never carried himself as though he was simple. ''I brought you those,'' he hands Alec paper sheets folded in half. ''I got my hands on some werewolves. Could you give those to Scott?''
It's more automatic than not, when Alec takes and unfolds them. They are black-and-white prints of photographs of ID's.
''You did?'' Alec says, still dumbfounded, still in the act of being interrupted. Habit-mindedness sliced in half. ''How?''
Theo shrugs. His face furrows for a beat, then he fiddles with the door handle, pushing it down twice.
Alec looks at the goods in his hands: a toothbrush, werewolfy profiles. ''Do you want me to tell him that they're from you?''
Theo looks conflicted. That's fair; it's a conflicting state of circumstances, or what is it that Liam told Alec. Maybe Theo turned to Alec because of the implied similarity: both well-accustomed to doing what it takes. Maybe Theo is finding some comfort in that; like Alec would recognise that Theo is a runaway object, or a throwaway one, only having made himself a weapon because he had been made into one first. Like Alec would recognise that Theo is trying to pay his dues. Or maybe Alec is misjudging and Theo isn't seeking comfort at all, which is what Malia thinks. Guess Alec is a little soft for softer scenarios.
''Jesus,'' Alec says again. ''You were gone so long. You didn't say anything. Have you—'' He hesitates, frowns a little. ''Does—Ah, well, you know. Does Liam know?'' He was going for tentative with this one before he swerved. Tending to the habits of skittish wolves.
Theo is looking past Alec's shoulder, distanced and glassy. Alec thinks of dolls, their eyes amiss in that they are unseeing and custom-built. It's a thought too cruel, unless it's sympathetic.
Theo shakes his head, slowly, and exhales, touches his temples with his index fingers, then drops them lower and presses them over his jaw muscles.
''TMJ pain?'' Alec asks.
Theo drops his hands. ''What?''
''Oh. The jaw joint,'' Alec points to his own.
Theo shrugs. ''It's just tender. This muscle,'' he taps.
''Have you been stressed? TMJ problems are common for young people. Can happen because of stress. Stress can cause teeth grinding.'' A clumsy explanation, but Alec can't re-order its parts now, just hopes Theo takes it. Hopes Theo makes his skin onion peel and shows something less dry underneath. And Theo:
Theo looks at him expressionlessly, for a beat, and then exaggeratedly sad-faces. Pouts, closes his eyes, nods slowly. ''I've been stressed,'' he says.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/32225941
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dragonsmooch · 3 years
Text
“your heart used obstruct (but it failed)”, a pkmn SWSH self-insert-isekai fic
Dragon (isekai SI) x Piers (eventually) (also x Raihan? Possibly? OT3?)
Chapter 2: dragons should like flying
Words: ~4548 oh geez it got worse I'm sorry
Context: Set near the start of the SWSH post-championship content, during the post-game kerfuffle with Sordward and Shielbert. The first stadium, Turffield Stadium, has already been saved from a rampage. Also SI changes to using 'Dragon' in this chapter.
Warnings: Cursing (a lot), probably an oversimplification of traveling across Galar, and one (1) slightly ridiculous isekai plot
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(^unfortunately SI didn't get to interact with Nessa, so look at her gorgeous smile until we see her again!)
Google Drive document link here if you’d prefer that (which will be easier to tweak with updates later), or you can just read the whole thing under the cut! First chapter here! Next chapter here! Fic masterpost link here!
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“So, you come from a world that's heard of ours, but doesn't have Pokemon in it?”
I would've sagged into the seat, if it wasn't one currently suspended in the air by a giant bird. Planes are fine. Fun, even. Flying Taxis are NOT planes. As it was, I had to relax my fingers after recovering from every unexpected shake. Thankfully I didn't need my hands for the Rotom Phone, since it could float in front of me. Otherwise I probably would've snapped it in half. Piers was sharing his, since we were already sharing this taxi. Victor and Hop were in another cab. Sonia was busy calling the stadiums to warn them while heading back to her lab.
“Yeah,” I answered Hop, belatedly. Focusing on conversation was better than on the current distance to the ground. “It's—probably weird, but I know some bits and pieces about Galar, and some other regions.”
Victor hummed. “So you know about our Gym Challenge?”
“And that Victor's the new Champion,” Hop added, clapping his friend's back.
The look they shared was precious. Like Hop always mentioned this, much to Victor's amusement. Childhood besties. I couldn't help smiling. “More or less. We have a video game about the Gym Challenge. I recognize some of the Gym Leaders—” My gaze flicked to Piers. Please stop staring. It was hard to ignore those piercing blue eyes. “—and Trainers and all.”
“I'm an ex-Gym Leader,” Piers repeated. Still slouching, even in a carriage suspended hundreds of feet in the air.
Stop thinking about it. “Still counts. You're still a Trainer.”
Victor grinned. “A real wicked one, too. He almost beat Raihan—the Dragon-Type Gym Leader—in the Champion Cup Finals! WITHOUT Dynamaxing!”
“And he was ace helping with that Dynamax Pokemon,” Hop butted in.
Piers' face turned from the screen, long bangs on the wrong side to hide behind. “Can we get back to the problem at hand?” He seemed bothered. His leg was bouncing. Maybe he didn't like heights after all.
Humor fading, I sank into the seat, finger tapping my knee. “So. I just kind of, teleported above a Dynamax Pokemon in—the grass gym?”
“Turffield Stadium,” was the three-man chorus.
“Right. That.” One finger became two, tapping more rapidly. “I have no idea how I got there, because we don't have Pokemon, let alone things that can teleport people. Unless something's been hidden from the public. Although at this point, I shouldn't be surprised if someone 'discovered ability to warp the space-time continuum,' after the 2020 bingo card.”
“...What?”
“Uh. Never mind. Inside joke.” I didn't want to get into that mess. “Anyway, maybe something here messed something up that... goes across dimensions or universes or whatever? Considering you guys have, like, Pokemon gods. Wasn't Alola all about ultra-dimensions or something,” I muttered to myself.
“Well, I don't think Galar is like Alola,” Victor pointed out. “But we did have an incident before this happened—oh, Sonia's calling!”
The screen split in two, allowing us to see the redhead in her own cab. “Nessa has gotten Hulbury Stadium evacuated, but there's already a Dynamax Pokemon rampaging! How much longer until you get there?”
“Not much longer,” Piers answered. He twisted the bracelet around his wrist.
“What about the other one,” I asked Sonia.
“Motostoke Stadium is dealing with a Dynamax Pokemon too. They're working on containing the flames, so it should be empty by the time you arrive.”
“Wouldn't we take too long to get there?” The games just sort of, had fast travel. I looked at Piers. “The Dynamax Pokemon can't leave the stadiums, right?”
“They can't leave without losing their Dynamax form. Still, we don't want 'em causing too much of a ruckus and hurtin' someone. We'll fly to Motostoke after this if they're still havin' trouble,” he told the others. Eyeing me, he asked, “You sure you want to come along?”
Sonia admitted, “I WOULD like you to come back to my lab soon, so I can talk to you. I want to study the strange readings you give off too!”
I shook my head. “I may not be a badass Trainer like you guys, but I'm not sitting around and waiting for another wormhole. Those two jerks might know something too. I can do the fun science stuff after we stop those guys.”
He huffed lightly, shrugging. “Suit yourself.”
The smirk was wiped off of his face as a particularly strong wind blustered against the cab.
“Fuck!” I extended every limb in an attempt to stabilize myself. Legs braced on the front, one hand clutched the door, the other Piers' arm. He gripped the seat, albeit less desperately.
The cabbie's voice crackled on the 'in-flight intercom.' “Sorry about that! Just a little turbulence.”
“Okay, THANKS,” I shouted back, voice hard. In... out. Releasing Piers with an apology, I kept hold of my other anchors and muttered to myself. “I like planes. This is just a plane. A mini plane, carried by a giant bird.” It wasn't very convincing. Other bird Pokemon had followed us for a time—Corviknight's previous evolutions, I was pretty sure. But they couldn't keep up with the sheer power of our taxi's wing flaps.
“Flying Taxis take a bit to get used to,” Victor agreed. Right, we were on a call. Oops. “But don't worry! Corviknight is a VERY strong Pokemon, just ask Hop.”
“It's a Steel-Type, so, I'm not really surprised. It could probably bench-press me if it had arms.”
The kids exchanged grins. Victor pressed, “So you DO know things about Pokemon.”
Sonia hummed. “But, you've never seen Pokemon before today!”
“Yeah, well, I grew up with—with these uh, shows and games. It's how I know things. Some things.”
“It's weird, to think about the things we do being made into a video game.”
“Yeah, I guess it is, huh?” I focused on the kids' faces, trying to unclench my jaw. “I was never good at the competitive side of the games. But I have friends who went to, like, tournaments. Even my mom is still into the games—always offering to trade me Pokemon I don't have to complete my Pokedex and stuff. The Pokemon were just digital, but I mean, we still get attached to them.”
Hop leaned in with a grin. “They can't compare to the real thing, though!” Victor laughed, lightly shoving him back into his seat.
“Of course not!” My free hand gestured wildly. “Do you know how cool it is to have supernatural creatures as friends?”
“Well—”
“No! Because you've always had them around! Meanwhile, I'm over in boring Only Humans World with plain, not-magical animals! You have dragons! Actual dragons!”
“We should introduce her to Raihan,” Hop told his friend, getting a laugh.
I laughed too. Coincidentally... “One of my nicknames is The Dragon Lover.”
There was a noise beside me. Piers, odd look on his face, repeated, “The Dragon Lover?” His voice cracked slightly on the last word. He cleared his throat.
I hid the sheepishness with a grin, knowing it probably sounded weird. I made it up when I was like ten or something, okay? “Or Dragon.” It didn't ease his bewilderment.
“Just... Dragon? It sounds kind of silly,” Victor admitted.
I stuck my tongue out at him. “Your face is kind of silly,” I shot back. We had ourselves another giggle. “I've loved dragons since I was a kid. Even if they weren't real in my world.” Holding up a finger, I stressed to them all, “That we know of.”
“Maybe there ARE dragons in your world.” Hop pointed excitedly. “And they did something that sent you here!”
“Maybe?” I shrugged, admitting, “At this point, I'll believe anything.”
“Alright... 'Dragon.' ” Piers was slouching again, toying with his pendant. He gestured out the open window. “Not that this friendly chin-wag isn't entertaining, but we're nearly to Hulbury.”
“We see it! We'll see you after we land!”
“Call me after you're done!”
Indeed, the taxis descended upon a town hugging the coast. We passed more bird Pokemon, and leisurely drifting purple balloons—Drifloon, I realized, ambling on the salty breeze. People bustled in the streets below, especially at the docks and what looked to be a gathering of stalls and tents. I could pick out shapes in the distant waters, perhaps fishing boats preparing to haul big catches. The sea glittered in the sunlight. Quite a sight, from this high up.
It would've been an even better one if my long hair wasn't slapping my face. Leaning back from the window, I pleaded, “Do you have an extra hair tie?” I accepted the laughter at my expense as payment. My hat was clamped between my knees to make sure it wasn't sucked out the window. “Ready for round two?”
“I don't do encores.” The titular line. It sounded rougher, more daring in-person. He straightened, rolling his shoulder. The dark smirk he wore was all Gym Leader Piers. “But I'm always ready to rock.”
.
I wished, not for the first time, that I remembered more of the story beats for this 'quest line.' Maybe it won't go the same way. But I'd have a better idea of what I could do to help.
“Do you see the red and blue suits,” I whispered to my current buddy. We sat at the top row of the defender's side of the stadium, searching for our targets.
The lizard replied. I took it as a negative. He was tall—much taller than me, though that's normally a given—and thin, scales blue and black, with a yellow crest on his head. Was it awe-inspiring to see a real life Inteleon, the final evolution of the starter I'd chosen in the games? Yes, very much so. He leaned against the wall, his gaze completely focused on the battle taking place below. I had no doubts he could actually snipe a shot from way up here. It was the only reason I'd been allowed out of the relatively safe lobby. Victor was confident in his Pokemon, as was I.
Lightning exploded down below, crashing into the belly of a massive sea serpent. Victor's Toxtricity, I'm guessing. If only I had Inteleon's vision, or the giant television screens were working. I bet this all looks super badass.
Suddenly, Inteleon snatched me up. I understood why he leapt away as the turning Gyarados unleashed a torrent of water, clipping the top of the protective shields and raining upon the top row. Since this wasn't a video game, the combatants weren't stuck to one side of the arena. Meaning, a rampaging Dynamax Pokemon in the stadium was more dangerous to bystanders. Hence why I had a bodyguard.
“Thank you,” I managed. Water surged past our feet. He kept me stable, eyes still on the field. “...damn, you're cool.” That got a smirk. I DEFINITELY want an Inteleon now. As if I needed motivation.
.
Unfortunately, there were no weird-hairdo jerks at Hulbury Stadium. I suspected they wouldn't be at Motostoke either. But there was still the Dynamax Pokemon there to deal with too. It's just nonstop with these guys, huh?
The consolation to suffering from wet shoes and socks was that I wasn't alone. Both Piers and I sported bare feet on the flight to Motostoke, footwear tucked safely away. The kids video called us, dry as bones. They carry around extra clothes? Eh, I guess that makes sense if they camp often. They probably also didn't mind changing in the taxi. I huddled in my seat. This high up, the air tore right through me. Hopefully that meant our shoes and socks would air out by the time we landed.
“Nessa called us an odd group,” Victor commented, chomping on some kind of snack bar. My stomach growled. I patted it with a soft 'hush'.
Hop laughed. “Imagine if she saw the two we're chasing after!”
Scoffing, Piers began digging into his bag. “Speaking of that... We didn't see them at Hulbury Stadium.”
“They're probably not going to be at Motostoke either,” I finally admitted aloud. The kids asked what I meant, and I gave a vague gesture. “I mean... think about it. Sonia came running up not too soon after they left, worried about Hulbury and Motostoke because she got readings. If the readings are from the Dynamax Pokemon, but those two were still close to Turffield when she got them, then—they probably had outside help who Dynamaxed the Gyarados and whatever is in Motostoke.”
Victor frowned as realization dawned. “Do you mean, they had these setup before we confronted them?”
“Wait—does that mean they're off who knows where, while we clean up their messes?” The frustration twisted Hop's face. “Argh—they're just messing with us!”
“Calm down for a sec,” Piers warned. He passed something over. I grasped crinkling plastic as he pointed out, “Even if it is just a distraction, it still needs to be taken care of—”
“Oh my god, Piers. This...” I held up the bag, utterly delighted. “These are called 'Doom Crisps! Like, Houndoom? They're—” I checked the label, complete with cartoonish horned dog. “Barbecue chips, styled after Houndoom. Oh my god I love them. You're an angel.” He eyed me, lips twitching despite the serious discussion I'd just interrupted. Opening the bag, I popped one in my mouth with a happy 'mmm.' “...sorry, sorry. Uh, might be a distraction, but still needs to be dealt with. If it hasn't already been taken care of by—uh, Kabu?”
He finally shook his head, turning to look out the window. “...we can hope.”
“Maybe we should call Motostoke Stadium,” Victor suggested aloud, grin fading. “...Piers? Do you have his number?”
“Just because we were Gym Leaders at the same time doesn't mean we were chums.” Piers got an apology. Then, he reached for the floating phone, minimizing their image. “...Yeah, I got it.” He was grinning. I rolled my eyes, snorting.
“We should ask if he's seen those two,” Hop mentioned. “Just in case they DID go there themselves. I mean, who would help weirdos like them out?”
“Someone who thinks they're actually kings, for some reason.” As soon as the words left my mouth, my back straightened with a pop. I remembered another important part of the quest. “Whoa, wait, hold on—call Sonia.”
“What's that? Why Sonia?”
“If they're not at the stadiums because other people are helping them, they might be going to her lab.” I was certain I remembered that happening. She calls later about it. But why?
“Huh? Why?” Hop echoed my thought.
My memory was failing me. Growling at myself, I tried to reason it out. “...They might not like that she can tell where they're hitting up next with her sensor thing. Or... I don't know.” I couldn't remember why her assistant turned on her, only that the lady had been working with the two from the start. “Just, she needs to be careful. They don't care about what the Dynamaxing is doing to people or Pokemon—and they freakin' hit me with an Extrasensory, the jerks. Tell her to keep an eye out and lock up her lab and valuables or something.”
Victor frowned, glancing at his friend. “Good point. We'll do that.”
The call ended, and Piers began to ring Kabu. I inhaled the 'crisps' and stuck the empty bag in my pocket. Don't want it going out the window and littering. I sank into the seat again. Peering at the outside world, as incredible as I found it all, was cramping my neck.
There wasn't much else to look at in here other than my unlikely companion. So I finally let myself get a good look at Piers. That was also taking time to get used to. It was all strange whether I expected it or not, but he threw me off the most. Every time he opens his mouth, my brain goes, 'Oh yeah. This is Piers Pokemon, former Gym Leader and forever rockstar.' Was he wearing eyeshadow and eyeliner? I needed to stop getting surprised by what a video game couldn't capture about him. For one, I guess I should've expected a husky rockstar voice, huh? And whether it's for shows or just 'cause, he... ROCKS makeup. The descending sun made his eyes gleam like polished turquoise—if I let myself get romantic. He hooked a finger into his pendant, tugging. Hearing his white leather jacket squeak against the seat really hammered in that I was actually sitting next to an actual person. The real Piers. In the flesh. Live, in a taxi cab near you.
And I was staring at him. When I met his gaze, I realized he'd noticed too. He gave another tug. His chin tilted towards his bag. “Got more snacks, if you want.” He nudged it over with his boot.
“Are you sure?” He nodded. I smiled gratefully. I was indebted to these people. Wary of touching anything I shouldn't, I followed instructions to extract another bag of crisps. “You're an angel.”
About to say something, the voicemail cut him off. He sighed and redialed, dismissing my gratitude with a wave. Satisfied, I nestled into my side of the cab. Much less turbulence this time, I noted. Maybe the cabbie was being careful on my account. I was actually getting drowsy, thanks to the longest day in existence. Only the chill of the altitude kept me awake.
.
I hung back slightly in the lobby, letting the people who knew each other converse. Seeing how surprised Hop was when Kabu referred to him by name honestly hurt my heart. I'm going to encourage this kid if it kills me. The graying Gym Leader didn't hesitate. “Of course I do! You two were red-hot, after all!” He reflected fondly, “I'll never forget seeing you off after you'd completed your first leg of the Gym Challenge.”
I could imagine it: Hop and Victor standing near the edge of the city, ready to face their next adventure. With three Gym Leaders eager to see them reach for the top.
“Don't think we really got the time for a friendly chin-wag,” Piers muttered. Right. We all stood in the lobby of Motostoke Stadium for a reason. That reason was the cause of the comedically timed rumbling that shook the walls.
“Right! Actually... the situation's getting pretty bad over at the stadium.”
“Yeah. That'd be why we're here.”
“Ah, brilliant! The opponent's a bit much to take on single-handedly, so I was wondering what to do. But with you all at my side, my confidence in this battle is burning brighter by the minute!” He eyed me. “Is this another powerful Trainer as well? I don't recognize her.”
“Oh, no,” I spoke over the others' answers, “I'm not that cool. Uh, sir, what Pokemon is Dynamaxed in there?”
“A Torkoal,” the man answered.
“Fire and... Rock? No,” I corrected at the frowns I got, “it's just Fire-Type with a hard shell. I'm thinking of... uh, Slugma's evolution. Magcargo!” I shook my head, glancing at Piers and Victor. “I was going to say Scrafty for Fighting-Type moves, but... Well, Inteleon will still do great. And Hop's Cinderace won't have to worry about the fire, at least. Please don't get burned, guys!”
Victor nodded. “I'll leave my Toxtricity with you.”
“Awesome!” I might've bounced on my toes when the kid let out his Pokemon. This reptilian creature wasn't as tall as Inteleon—but still taller than me, as expected. Purple, with a yellow underbelly, and some sort of spiked ring around their waist. Then there was the lightning jutting out of their head like a mohawk. Tired-looking eyes surveyed me, arms crossed. I was grinning again. “This is the Amped Form, right? Oh, hi, by the way, sorry.” I introduced myself and held out a hand, and was ignored.
“Don't mind her,” Victor said. “She takes a bit to warm up to new people. But she'll keep you safe while you do some detective work.”
“I bet she will! Toxitr—Toxtricity is a badass.” I hadn't said that name out loud much.
Giving the Trainers a dramatic salute as they left for battle, I turned to my new bodyguard. Why had Kabu frowned at me? “...Oops. Swore in front of the kids. But, you are really cool.” She rolled her eyes, swiping a hand across the protrusions on her chest... and I gasped at the noise. “You make guitar noises?” Her mouth twitched. Then she turned for the exit. I ran after her. “Hey! Wait! We're looking for those sword and shield assholes!” Oh boy.
.
“Did you find anything,” Victor asked as we met up on the blackened field. The Torkoal had been doused and brought somewhere to recuperate.
I shook my head. “Everyone was evacuated. We didn't find anyone hiding in the stands or the lobby.” Toxtricity casually strummed, so I added, “Your Pokemon is a sadist and watched me struggle climbing.” She snorted while I grinned.
“Sorry—she has an interesting sense of humor.” I promised I was joking. He thanked his Pokemon for her work, which I echoed. Once she was in her Poke Ball again, he pulled out his Rotom Phone. “Let's check in with Sonia. She should be back at her lab by now.”
I crowded closer to view the screen, waving when the redhead popped up. Sonia brightened. “Victor! And Megan—or should I say Dragon? The Galar particle readings have settled down! Good work!”
“I literally did nothing.” Jabbing a thumb to the Champion, I mentioned, “These guys have been running all around Galar like superheroes.”
Victor deflected the praise. “What have you found on your end, Sonia? Dragon looked for those two while we fought the Dynamax Pokemon, but we haven't found them yet.” They were seriously using my nickname? Grateful warmth tickled my chest.
“I was more focused on studying the readings, and trying to figure out how they could relate to interdimensional travel... But let me see what I can find! You said their names were Sordward and Shielbert, right?” At his hum, the professor began clicking away on her computer. We were stepping into the lobby when her 'aha' made us jump. “They've been in a few articles over the years, discussing the royal lineage and how they're the proper heirs of Galar. Ugh... they have a fan club? Did any of them actually MEET those weirdos?”
“Watch out for anything odd,” I told her. I wish I could just come out and say 'don't trust your assistant,' but... I warned instead, “Since they got Pokemon Dynamaxing in Hulbury and Motostoke so quickly, they probably have like, spies or something around. Lock up real tight, and—be suspicious of other people you don't know very well.” I lifted a palm. “Even me, if you wanna be safe. I'll leave and let you talk to Victor, and I won't ask questions.”
“I suppose that's a good point...” Sonia puffed her cheeks out. “But I don't doubt you! Your story sounds strange, and a little crazy—but I believe it! We've had our share of strange, crazy things happening lately. Even right now!”
Hearing her say that was nice. But I worried. She'd probably not suspect her assistant either. It nagged at me that I couldn't remember what the assistant would do. It wasn't destroying Sonia's equipment, or the player—Victor—wouldn't be able to pursue those jerks further. Actually— “Just, make sure to protect your equipment, and any other valuables you have. At least until we catch up to these weirdos.”
As we approached the others, Hop turned. “Is that Sonia? How are things at the lab?” He leaned over to share the screen with his friend.
I stepped aside to give them space, yawning. MAN I'm tired. My eyebrows rose when I noticed Piers with Obstagoon. He was spraying something? A cloth carefully rubbed it into singed fur. Medicine. “Are you guys okay?” Obstagoon grumbled, then winced. His Trainer apologized, glancing my way. Was his hair singed too? I pressed, “Do you need anything? Water?”
“Kabu's getting us more water.” He gestured at the crushed bottles littering the ground at our feet. Taking a swig from his own, he couldn't hide his wince. “...and ice.”
“Oh my god, gimme.” I stepped forward, pointing at his spray bottle. “Does that help humans too? You spray yourself, and I'll get Obstagoon. If that's okay with you,” I asked his Pokemon. Obstagoon nodded.
“It's fine—” Piers' waving off was interrupted by my Look. Shut up and let me DO something. Pausing, he sighed and shook his head. The cloth was tossed over. “Suit yourself.”
“Better than being useless,” I told him. Examining Obstagoon, I winced in sympathy. “Oh, honey. Burns suck, huh? And with all that fur you must be overheating like crazy.” My hesitation to touch his snout was pointless; he bumped my hand, grumble ending with a snort in my face. Cleaning off snot with a 'bleh,' I gently rubbed the soaked cloth between his eyes. “I just have the occasional disagreement with hot water and metal. You had a fistfight with an oven.”
By the time Kabu returned with that water, I'd applied the medicine to most of the obvious burns. A low 'gaoh' accompanied another bump to my hand. Aww. What a cutie. I gave Obstagoon a few more careful scritches. His Trainer chuckled, returned the badger to his Dusk Ball—of course—and turned to greet the kids. “What'd Sonia have to say?”
“She's keeping an eye on her Power Spot Detectors and social media for any clues,” Hop replied. He scratched his head, groaning. “But until then, we don't know where those two weirdos went. And we still have to get back the Rusted Sword!”
“Then there's no sense running off,” Piers reminded as the teen stomped his foot. “They'll turn up again. They don't seem the type to stay low-key.”
“We stopped the Dynamax Pokemon,” Victor added. “That's something to be glad about, at least.”
“But we don't know what they're doing it for!” Hop was now tapping his foot, arms crossed. “Who knows what they're plotting next?”
“We can figu—” My attempt to placate him was thwarted by another yawn. I swallowed a curse, lightly slapping my face.
After a chuckle, Piers stepped in, looking about as tired. “We'll figure it out. But it's gettin' late, and we've been criss-crossin' Galar all day. We can head to the Pokemon Lab in the morning.”
“You're coming with us, Piers?” Victor sounded surprised.
The ex-Gym Leader rolled his shoulder. “Might as well stick by you till we see this through.”
“And I literally have nothing else to do, or anywhere to go.” I shrugged, trying to make light of it. Then another yawn escaped, pissing me off. “But I'm about to just pass out on the floor.”
Piers snorted, pulling out his phone. “Budew Drop Inn sound good to you runts?”
.
Tag list: @lilacslovers @saintcichols @jellyfish-ships @zvezdas-selfships @shonenships @ribbitships @insomniaships @void-kissed @werewolfpine @candyforthebrain (THANK YOU AGAIN!!!)
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mistymark · 4 years
Text
VIGILANTE/S VII
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part seven // 6.1k words // superpowered!au // series masterlist
summary; in which you consider yourself somewhat of a vigilante.
warnings; swearing, suggestive (?) content not really, lots of swearing, mention of death
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The following days are almost boring. Almost normal. Jaehyun had cancelled all your training sessions, even the ones that wouldn’t cause any harm. You spend your days poring over all the information the team had gathered about the Red Crown and their guests, and running errands in preparation. 
A few hours after your last training session with Jeno, he’d caught you and read out all the information his girlfriend had sent him about what to wear to the ball and you’d spent the evening buying floor-length dresses, shoes that were bound to hurt your feet, glamourous jewellery and makeup products you didn’t even know the purpose of.
“What is that?” Donghyuck leant over to see what you were looking at on the laptop. You were both sitting on your bed; you were quizzing him on the Crown leaders while you looked at makeup. He was slouching, leaning against you as his eyes scanned the screen.
“Eyelashes,” you murmured. Most of them looked too big to be natural but you figured it would only help you fit in at the ball. You added a pair of lashes to your basket – they were on the smaller side, but you figured they would be easier to use.
“Are they… are they real?” Donghyuck furrowed his brow as he looked at them.
You paused, looking away from your laptop for a moment. “God, I hope not.” You both burst out into fits of giggles.
“Most of the Crowns are Shields,” he said, flipping through the information. “Except for the leaders.”
“Mentalists.” You shiver. You’d never really liked Mentalists – people who could manipulate the mind, bend the wills of others, alter who they are. Shields weren’t so bad – sure, they were dangerous, able to manipulate physical things, but at least you could see what you were dealing with. They surged with power – a type of power that wasn’t dark. Mentalists had dark power, a kind that made it both invigorating and terrifying to use.
You have to remind yourself that Doyoung and Johnny are Mentalists, too.
“This guy’s bulletproof,” he points to a photo of one of the Shields listed. You remembered the power from the night you’d witnessed the Senator’s kidnapping, but the smiling face in the photo isn’t familiar.
“I’m done,” you say, pushing the computer from your lap. You’d purchased hundreds of dollars worth of makeup that you’d never used before, hoping that you could figure it out before the ball. “I can’t order anymore.”
“I’ve got four fittings tomorrow,” he mumbles as you shut down the computer and place it on the ground beside your bed.
“Here?”
“No, some place Jaehyun goes. You wanna come?”
You shake your head no, everything you’d ordered would have to be picked up tomorrow and you were hoping to get it all done so you wouldn’t have to worry about it for the rest of the week. “I have to go pick all this up,” you gesture to the screen.
He groans and slides down the headboard of your bed like a dead fish, and you offer him an amused smile. “Ugh.”
Someone knocks on the door. The door clicks open and Johnny pokes his head through the small gap, “Dinner’s here.”
You groan and push Donghyuck off your bed, knowing he wouldn’t move on his own, “Come on, you bag of bones.”
He grunts as he hits the floor but he stands up eagerly, “It’s Thai.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s Chenle’s turn to order – he always chooses Thai.” You’re reminded of how much of a family they are when Donghyuck smiles to himself, grabbing a hoodie from his bed and sliding it over his head as he walks out of the room, ready to have dinner with the rest of the team.
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It’s the first time you’ve had dinner with the whole team, and you find yourself enjoying it more than you thought you would. Jaehyun sits at the head of the table, with Johnny on the other end, and the rest of the team find seats wherever they can.
“You’re in my seat,” Jaemin points at the chair Chenle is sitting in.
“Fuck off,” Chenle turns back to the food, reaching for a plastic container of rice. Immediately, Jaehyun stands up and grabs Chenle’s glass, sitting it down in front of Mark instead. Jaemin’s actions are fast, but Chenle anticipates his attack, slamming his hands onto the table’s surface to hold him steady as Jaemin attempts to wrench him from his chair. Chenle’s finger hits a piece of cutlery, causing it to flip and almost knock over a nearby bottle of chilli sauce. If it hadn’t been moved, Chenle’s glass would have been knocked over. Chenle snaps his fingers, and Jaemin’s hands immediately become encased in fire, causing him to shriek and step back.
Chenle shakes his head, reaching for his wayward piece of cutlery and digging into his food, “It’s not even burning you.”
Jaemin mouths Chenle’s words, shaking his head from side to side in a mocking manner, before dropping into the empty seat beside him with a huff. “Pass me the rice.”
“Say please,” Chenle smirks.
“Can you pass the sauce, please, Y/n?” Mark asks from beside you. You nod and reach for it.
“You know, that ice girl got kicked out of the finals,” Renjun says, biting into a piece of pork.
“No! Really?” Mark’s eyes get wide as he looks at Renjun.
“Yeah, she lost to that guy who can turn things to stone,” Renjun explains. You hardly kept up with the Super fights, but you listen anyway. You’d honestly thought that ice would beat stone, but when Renjun excitedly fills you and Mark in on how she lost, you begin to understand how easily she was beaten.
Jaehyun laughs at something Doyoung has just said, and when you look at him, you’re reminded of how young he is. He looks ten years younger like this, laughing at the dinner table with his friends, eating fried rice in his pyjamas. They might not be his pyjamas, but compared to his normal attire, the drawstring pants and plain tee is the most relaxed outfit you’d seen him wear.
At the other end of the table, Johnny is leaning in to talk to Donghyuck, his face serious as he nods. His brows are furrowed and you wonder what Donghyuck has said to prompt that response. Suddenly, Johnny’s eyes snap to yours and you quickly look away, feeling awkward after witnessing whatever that exchange was. You tune in to the conversation around you.
“You’re coming to the fittings tomorrow, right?” Renjun asks Jeno, but the latter shakes his head. “No, I’ve already got my suit.”
“What colour is it?” You ask.
“Blue.” You feel your eyebrows raise. You’d always picked him as the type to only ever wear black. Even now, he wasn’t wearing anything that was lighter than a dark grey.
The dinner talk drifts from the ball to the fights to the arguments over who gets the last of each dish until finally all the food is gone, and you stand up to clear the dishes.
“I’ll do it,” Jaemin says, quietly. You blink. He takes the plate from your hands and begins walking to the kitchen.
“If I could do all my chores in ten seconds flat, I’d offer, too,” Donghyuck deadpans. He stretches in his seat and yawns, “Unfortunately, I don’t, so…” He shrugs and then rises from his chair, kicking it back under the table.
“Jaemin’s on clean-up duty,” Jeno’s voice is quiet. “You can leave it.” He walks away from the table.
You start stacking some of the empty containers together as everyone else disperses.
“You know,” you turn to see Jaemin walking back out from the kitchen, that signature smirk on his face. “It would be much faster for me if you didn’t help.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” his tone has changed – he’s being sincere. “I can do it at my speed, but I don’t want to if you’re standing here.”
“What-?”
“You know when a car goes past you really fast and you get that strong force of wind? Imagine that but ten times harder.” You mouth drops into a slight ‘o’. During your training, you’d found it more difficult to train with him – your reflexes were fast, but you found it difficult to judge distance when you were using his superspeed. It had never occurred to you that he could go faster than he was letting on. “It’s okay, really. You can go.”
You offer him an apologetic smile and leave the mess to him, making your way to the corridor to see what the others were up to. When you turn back around to see how Jaemin is doing, the table is cleared and shiny with water, having recently been wiped down and cleaned. “Huh, what do you know?”
You feel a rush of air and roll your eyes when you see Jaemin leaning against his own doorframe at the end of the hall, “Hey, slowcoach.”
You quirk an eyebrow at him, stopping, “Nicely done.”
In the blink of an eye, he’s a few feet from you, stepping forward at what you would call a normal speed as if he’d walked the whole way like that. “I try my best,” his voice is deeper, quieter. His signature smirk remains on his face. He passes you, knocking his shoulder against yours as he walks back out of the hallway. You wonder if he’s going out.
A door nearby is wrenched open, breaking your train of thought and Renjun marches into your room, raising his voice, “You’re so fucking stupid.”
You follow him inside, confused, only to see Donghyuck on his bed, dead. Again.
“We’re not even supposed to be training this week, you fucking moron.” You’re about to ask him why he’s yelling at a dead guy, but he continues. “I know that’s not where you are but-”
Now, you’re thoroughly confused. He doesn’t notice you’re there until he turns around, “Oh, Y/n. Sorry. I’m mad at Donghyuck.”
“I can see that.” When he’s standing so close, you have easy access to his power, and for the first time, you reach for it. A sense of cold washes over your body. Like you’ve just stepped into a freezer. You had felt it when he was around, but you hadn’t thought it was actually coming from him. You’d never been able to name his power – just feel it. But now you understood what he could do. “You… you can communicate with the dead?”
He looks surprised. “You didn’t know?” he frowns, and you feel almost embarrassed.
“Uh, no?”
“Oh. Okay, then,” he reaches a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “Well, uh, I can talk to dead people, yeah.” He straightens, dropping his hand back down to his side, “Actually, it’s more like the dead can talk to me. I can exist in both worlds – the dead and the living – so I can see them and talk to them… yeah.”
“You can talk to Donghyuck?” You gesture to the body on the bed.
“He’s right there,” Renjun using his left hand to point directly to his right, determinedly not looking in that direction. “He says hi.”
You look at the blank space Renjun had pointed to, “Hey.” You turn your attention back to Renjun, about to ask another question, when a loud bark interrupts. Bruce is standing at the door, growling at something in the room. He looks bigger, angrier like this, less like the adorable dog who had sat in his fluffy bed in the gym and watched you train.
“Not now, C, go play.” You only now realise that the dog was looking in the direction of Donghyuck.
“Your dog can see ghosts,” the words come out in a disbelieving tone.
Renjun laughs, “What? No. Just me. He just hates Donghyuck.” Bruce is still standing in the doorway, a low, rumbling growl echoing in his chest as he stares into the room.
Renjun’s tone is stern now, warning, “Cerberus…” The dog’s attention snaps to its owner and his ears twitch, his tail beginning to wag slowly. “Go play.”
When the dog begins to trot away, you hear Jaemin, his voice high, like he’s talking to a baby “Hey, Brucey! Hello, Brucey Baby! How’s my good boy?”
“He’s normally more obedient,” Renjun says, apologetic. “Something about Donghyuck gets him all riled up.”
“It’s okay,” you smile. “Did you just call him Cerberus?”
“Yeah,” Renjun says, dismissively. Then, “Bruce is just a nickname, what we call out at the park. His name is actually Cerberus, though.”
“Like Hades’ dog. The god of the underworld.”
Renjun’s smile widens, “Yeah. Exactly like that.”
You find yourself matching his smile, “You named him?”
“Of course, I named him.” He almost sounds offended.
You nod approvingly and let out a laugh. You had not expected this from Renjun at all – he was small and thin and had a natural aptitude for computer science. You’d expected him to be, well, nerdier.
“He says he’ll be alive in about an hour. Do you wanna watch a movie?”
You nod, “Yeah. What movie?”
“I was thinking-,” Renjun cuts himself off, his head turning to the side quickly, a stern frown on his face. “No. You stay here and think about what you’ve done.”
You laugh, “Does he want to watch, too?”
“It doesn’t matter what he wants to do,” Renjun looks at Donghyuck’s body. “Idiot.”
You follow Renjun out of your room and trail after him. Mark, Chenle and Jaemin – with Bruce – end up inviting themselves to your movie night and you spread out in Renjun’s room to watch the movie. He has the biggest room as far as you can tell – multiple desks and computer screens are situated around the room. You notice a stack of expensive laptops on one of the desks and almost laugh. There are also a lot of beanbag chairs in his room, which you’re surprised to see.
“Does anyone want popcorn?” Jaemin asks from the doorway, and you all nod eagerly. He smiles at you and then disappears, the doorway only remaining vacant for all of two seconds before he’s walking in again with bowls and a bag of popcorn kernels in his hand.
“When I said I wanted popcorn, I did mean popped popcorn,” you say as you watch him spoon a few kernels into his mouth, letting it out loud crunching noises as he chews.
He juts his chin up, gesturing over to Chenle and Renjun. The former is holding his hand over Renjun’s bowl of popcorn, and you watch as bits of popcorn jump up in turn. He does the same for Mark and then himself.
He turns to you, “Do you want me to-?” He almost sounds shy. “Since you’re not supposed to use my abilities.”
You give him a grateful smile and nod, “Yes, please.” You pass him the bowl and he lets the bowl rest in his lap as he grabs the remote and presses play on the movie. When all the kernels have been popped, he passes it back without a word.
“Thank you,” you whisper. You swear, in the dark, you could see the lightest flicker of a smile on his face. Maybe it was just the light from the movie projector.
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It’s the first time you’ve managed to have a sleep-in and you almost don’t like it. Waking up to bright sunlight and an empty warehouse is almost unsettling.
“They’ve gone to the suit fitting,” Jeno says when you walk down the corridor in your pyjamas. Jeno is sitting at the table, with one hand wrapped around a pale yellow mug of tea and the other holding his phone. He locks it when you approach.
“All of them?” He nods. “Damn, okay.”
“Why?”
“I was going to ask Jaehyun if I could borrow a car to go pick up the stuff I bought.” You pad into the kitchen, barefoot. You pour yourself some of the leftover hot water and make your own tea.
“I can take you.”
You turn around in surprise, “Really?”
He shrugs, “Sure.”
You take the seat directly across from him, “Thank you. What time do you want to leave?”
The expression on his face almost makes you laugh. He pointedly looks from his own clothing to yours, “Whenever you’re ready.”
You nod and almost ask him why he’s not at the suit fitting. Why does he have a suit already if the others don’t?
“How long will they be gone?”
“With Donghyuck and Jaemin there? At least a few hours.” You laugh and he looks at you, almost confused, as if he didn’t think what he’d said deserved a laugh.
Once you’re ready, you meet Jeno in the garage, quickly running down the steps to the lower level. He’s leaning against the wall, texting. A helmet sits at his feet, another held in his hand, and you notice he’s wearing a fitted motorcycle jacket.
The garage is a large space, resembling a small aircraft hangar. Vehicles are parked in an ordered fashion with numbers painted on the concrete floor, as if you were standing in a mall’s parking garage and not Jaehyun’s personal garage.
A few of the spots are empty, whatever vehicles were there were now being used by the others.
You eye the motorbikes standing in row only a few feet from Jeno, ignoring the helmet Jeno’s holding out to you, “I’ve never ridden a motorbike before.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not about to start,” he slides his phone into his pocket before reaching for your hand and wrapping your fingers around the helmet. “I’m driving.”
“We can’t take a car?”
He stops. “I-,” he looks away from you, and you wonder if the slight blush on his face is from embarrassment or the leather jacket. “I can’t drive.”
“Motorbike it is then,” you nod, staring at the bike. It was huge and looked pretty stable – you weren’t afraid of motorcycles, but you would have preferred to take a car. Especially this close to the ball.
He handed you a leather jacket that vaguely matched his own, “Wear Jaemin’s. He won’t mind.”
You take it and slide your arms through the sleeves, zipping it up as far as the zipper would allow. The sleeves were a little too long on you, but you didn’t mind.
He has to help you with the helmet, but once he’s satisfied that it fits and won’t come flying off in the rare instance that you were to crash, he throws his leg over the seat and holds out a hand to help you stabilise as you follow.
You didn’t notice the large ramp at one end of the garage but you certainly notice when the roof over it slides open to reveal a large, empty room. The room above is made completely of stone, with the exception of one wall, which is actually a metal gate that rolls upwards to let you out.
Jeno doesn’t bother with any warnings like “Hold on” or “Ready?” so you have to stop yourself from shrieking in surprise when you surge forward and up the ramp. Other than that, he’s a pretty safe rider – you make it to the shop in one piece.
You pick up your shopping with no trouble, though the store managers keep trying to offer you refreshments and encouraging you to try on more dresses. You wonder if that’s common in stores like this – where the cheapest gown is over two thousand dollars – or if they just think you’re wealthy enough to buy more.
“Do you want to get lunch?” You ask Jeno, and you hope he says yes.
He surprisingly says yes. “I know a good place,” he cocks his head to the right and starts walking down the street. He has to use his head to direct you because he’s carrying two of the three bags you’ve just collected.
You follow him, “You come here often?”
“Are you hitting on me?”
“What?” Your eyes are wide and you look at him in shock because, no, you weren’t hitting on him. At all.
He gives you a tight-lipped smile, “I’m joking.” Shaking his head, he continues, “It’s where Jaemin and I used to go when we first moved in. It’s not far from here.”
You eat in almost total silence. Not because it’s awkward or you have nothing to talk about, but because the food is just so good. It’s the first time you’ve eaten lunch that wasn’t leftovers, or some form of breakfast food. “Can I get you anything else?” The waitress is a slim girl about your age, who focuses her sole attention on Jeno.
Jeno looks at you for an answer, but you shake your head. “No, thank you,” he says, handing the card with the order number back to her.
She lingers for a second, disappointed, and then nods, offering a wide, perfect smile, “Let me know if you change your mind!” Something in her voice makes you think she’s not just talking about the food.
When she walks away, Jeno returns to his food. “What?” He says when he finally notices the look on your face.
“What do you mean, ‘what?’ She’s into you! She was so obvious about it, too.”
“Oh,” he looks taken aback. He looks into his bowl, “I didn’t notice.” And you can tell he’s being honest.
“You know what’s interesting?”
“What?” His tone suggests he doesn’t care.
“She’s not a Normal.”
He looks up at you in surprise. You know he’s interested when he leans forward a little, “How do you know?”
“I can feel it.”
“Can you tell what she can do?”
You laugh, “She photosynthesises.”
“What?” He looks at you like you’re insane. “She’s not green.”
For some reason, this makes you laugh even harder, “What?”
“I mean, she could have accessory pigments but-,” he shakes his head. “She’s pale as fuck, though. Surely that wouldn’t be enough.”
You shrug, “I don’t know.”
Now, he turns in his seat to look at the waitress, and she notices immediately, almost dropping a coffee she’s carrying when he doesn’t look away, looking her up and down.
“Stop,” you laugh, tapping his hand with your pointer finger to get his attention again. You can practically feel the smugness radiating from the waitress, and you don’t know why it bothers you. “You’re making her flustered.”
“That makes no sense,” he thinks aloud, his mind still on her ability.
“You can crush a car with your bare hand. Jaemin can run at the same speed as an airplane flies and she doesn’t make sense?”
His brows furrow in thought, “Unless she’s not using visible light…” He leans forward, a spark in his eye, “What if she can just use radiation? That’s so cool.” Something on your face makes him clear his throat and settle back in his seat, “I used to be a science student.” His tone is shy, almost bashful, and he sneaks one last look at the waitress, much to her happiness.
“Used to?”
“I deferred when I started training more, I didn’t want to do it if I wasn’t going to be able to dedicate my time to it, you know?” He can tell you’re surprised, “You ready to go?”
You don’t want to push it so you nod and gather your bags to leave. Jeno pays for both meals and you wait for him by the door. When he leaves the small café, he’s still putting the change into his wallet. You catch sight of the receipt, most of the printed words illegible due to the bright red handwriting covering half of it. Jeno barely spares a second glance at it before he throws it in the trashcan outside.
“She gave you her number?” You watch him in amusement.
“Yeah.” His eyes catch sight of something back inside. “I think she saw me throw it out.”
You laugh at the look on his face, one of almost pure terror. “Come on. We should get back.”
When Jeno parks his bike in its spot, you notice that the garage is filled again – the rest of the team were back.
“There you are!” Donghyuck says, walking down the corridor. “Come check this out.” He grabs your hand and pulls you into your shared room, leading you to stand in front of the cupboard doors. A suit is displayed on the front, the hanger dangling dangerously from the top of the door. Jeno follows you inside, silently putting your bags down on your bed.
“What do you think?” Donghyuck asks, as you nod in thanks to Jeno. He nods back, pulling the door closed behind him.
“It’s beautiful,” you say, looking at the suit. It was black with red thread detailing. It wasn’t as noticeable as most of Jaehyun’s suits – much more subtle – but you thought it would look amazing on Donghyuck, the warmth of the red thread bringing out the warmth in his skin tone. “You’re gonna look great.”
He looks at you sideways, a smile on his face. The smile in his eyes makes him look younger, and you realise how much he’s looking forward to wearing the suit, to attending the ball.
“Can I see yours?”
“Sure,” you shrug, moving to the bags on your bed and sliding the boxes out delicately. Donghyuck helps you remove the lids and arrange them on the bed so you can see them all. You were glad Jaemin was wearing black, because it meant you could wear anything and it would look good. You’d bought four dresses, because you didn’t want to buy one and then have it fit poorly. You did fully intend to return the unworn dresses afterwards, though.
“I like this one,” he points to the red one, still in its box.
“Mm…” you stare at the dresses. One’s a bright red, simple in comparison to the others. It’s classier, using the colour as its main feature. A beautiful green dress sits in its box beside it, the material catching the light in beautiful ways – illuminating different greens in the dress’ fabric. The midnight blue dress is simultaneously the most revealing and most regal – the gold detailing along the bodice makes it look like a princess’ dress, though the deep neckline and tight fabric would make it a little scandalous. The last dress was a plain black – beautiful and simple, but would probably be your last resort if the others didn’t work out.
“Donghyuck, Johnny wants to see you,” Doyoung’s voice carries down the corridor, so when you look up he’s only just walking into the room.
Donghyuck nods at him and ducks out of the room, his pace quickening as he goes to find Johnny.
Doyoung notices your frown and walks around the bed to stand beside you, “What are you doing?”
“Debating which dress to wear. This one is a beautiful colour but I’m worried it’ll look to revealing. This one is a little shorter and it might not look formal enough, you know?”
Doyoung nods, the expression on his face serious. You know he’s mocking you, but you don’t say anything.
Mark interrupts your thought process by stopping in the doorway, “You called?”
You turn to Doyoung – neither of you had said anything, so you presumed Doyoung had summoned Mark using his abilities.
“Can you do Y/n a favour?”
Mark nods instantly, “Of course. What do you need me to do?”
“Try on these dresses,” Doyoung tries to hold back his laughter at Mark’s confused and then bewildered expression.
It’s weird dressing yourself. Mark had shapeshifted into you, keeping his eyes clenched shut as he stepped into a dress. “Can I look?” Once you’ve secured the zipper, you nod. When you realise he can’t see you, you say yes.”
“This is ridiculous,” you shake your head, looking at your second self in the mirror. “Thank you for doing this.”
“It’s okay,” it’s your voice, but you recognise the waver in voice. He’s nervous. “Ready?” You nod. He’s wearing the green dress and you’re in the black one. You definitely prefer the green one.
You open the door and make your way into the main part of the warehouse, Mark beside you. Doyoung looks up from a large floorplan of the Red Crown’s headquarters and he almost laughs.
Jaemin’s sitting at the table nearby, eating something and he does a double take when he looks up. He looks between Doyoung and where you and Mark are standing, wondering if he’s going insane.
“You see two Y/n’s, too, right?”
“Yeah,” Doyoung nods and stands up straighter, analysing the dresses. “The green one.” You nod, turning around to head back to your room and try on the blue dress.
When you step out, Johnny is laughing at the other you, as Mark self-consciously crosses his arms over his – your – body. Chenle’s eyes widen – he’d just woken up from the looks of it – from where he was making some tea in the kitchen and he looks almost horrified at the two versions of you.
“Do you think this is too informal? Too revealing?” You ask, spinning around. “The neckline is too deep, right?” Your hand subconsciously moves to cover the exposed skin.
Your eyes search your audience. Doyoung cocks his head to the side, thinking. Johnny is still staring at Mark, laughing. Your eyes meet Jaemin’s and he gulps, “Uh, the green one.” He stands from his seat and heads to the kitchen to put his dish in the sink.
Chenle doesn’t say anything as he follows Jaemin down the hallway, presumably heading back to bed.
“The blue one is really nice,” Johnny admits. “But if you’re worried about the neckline, wear the green one. You don’t want to look uncomfortable the whole night.”
Doyoung nods in agreement.
“Yeah, I think I would be distracted if I wore this,” you respond, honestly.
You don’t catch it but Johnny’s attention drifts to something behind you, mumbling, “You’re not the only one.”
Once you’ve changed into the red dress, you immediately like it more than the others. It’s attention-grabbing but not too obvious, giving you an almost subtle beauty. You step out into the hall to find Doyoung and Johnny looking at something on the blueprints and Jaehyun standing opposite them, his back to you, discussing something about the plan.
“Okay, this is the last one, I promise,” you say, though it’s mostly directed at Mark. He’s relieved, you can tell, though he would never say that he hated this. He felt awkward being you, being analysed in the dress.
Johnny and Doyoung lean to the side to look around Jaehyun and stop. Neither of them say anything. Jaehyun turns to you and Mark, he clearly hadn’t noticed Mark standing there when he was talking to Doyoung and Johnny.
He looks surprised for a split second before his brows furrow, “Don’t you have something more important to do?” He’s looking at Mark. Mark nods and turns around to make his way back to your room, which was being used as a changing room.
Doyoung’s voice is in your mind, They’re both good.
Jaehyun turns to Doyoung and Johnny, “Meet me in my office.” They nod and Johnny begins to roll up the large piece of paper as Doyoung grabs the two coffees sitting on the table and they walk into the office.
Jaehyun doesn’t say anything for a moment, but you half expect him to scold you for wasting precious time. He doesn’t, ever the gentleman, not wanting to label you a distraction or any other objectifying term. You were already the only female in the team, and the last thing he wanted to do was offend you.
He turns to leave, then hesitates, “I like the red one.”
You’re frozen in place, your hands fisting the dress’ material in your hands and you nod. It takes a moment for both of you to realise you have to be somewhere, and you point behind you, “I should help-”
He nods, “Yes. I need to-”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
You move at the same time and when you’re sure he can’t see you, you shake your head at yourself. “Oh, thank god,” Mark’s sitting in your room, perched on Donghyuck’s bed, still mimicking your appearance and still in the dress. “I didn’t want to… you know.”
“No,” you shake your head dismissively. “Thank you.” He gives you a smile and covers his eyes with his hands so you can unzip the dress. The experience is surreal. You wonder if your body really looks like this – the way you see it now in front of you. Just quickly, you step back from behind Mark and check out your ass – you’ve never seen it like this.
“Can you pass me my shirt?” You grab the baggy t-shirt he was wearing and he blindly slides it over his head. The shirt is baggy on him, but dangles a little lower on your shorter frame so your body is covered.
“Okay,” you breathe out. “Thank you so much for that. I know it was-”
“It’s okay,” Mark laughs, shooing you out the door. Through the closed door, he yells, “I’m not looking!”
You laugh and only a few seconds later, he’s opening the door again, fully clothed and looking like his normal self.
“I didn’t see anything, promise.”
“It’s fine, Mark.”
“We could’ve just used pictures, you know?”
“I think Doyoung would’ve convinced you to do it even if you’d said no.”
“True,” he laughs. Then, “Did you end up picking?”
“Yeah, this one.” You gesture to the dress you were still wearing.
He nods, letting out a low whistle, “So I wore that thing for nothing.”
“It was the runner up,” you remind him.
He chuckles, “The red looks really pretty on you.”
“The green one looks really pretty on you,” you tease, making him scrunch his nose.
“I’ll see you later, then,” he says, saluting you as he heads back to his room. “If I don’t help Chenle now, he’ll probably burn my suit.”
“Then you might actually have to wear the green dress,” you nod, solemnly.
His eyes widen, “Chenle! I’m coming!” You laugh as he rushes back to his room and you return to your own to box up the rest of the dresses and change out of the dress you were still wearing.
A knock on the door alerts you to Jaemin’s presence and you open the door. He’s surprised to see you in casual clothes, having expected to see you still in one of the dresses. “That was fast,” he says.
“Mark was good help,” you smile.
“That was so weird,” he shakes his head, his eyes closed as if he’s trying to forget what he saw. “I thought I’d been drugged or something.” You laugh and a serious look crosses his face, “Wasn’t it weird? I mean, he… he saw you naked.” He steps forward a little to lean his shoulder against the doorframe; it’s something of a habit for him now.
You don’t step backward, refusing to give him the satisfaction of getting to you. You raise an eyebrow, “You jealous?”
He laughs, “Actually, yeah, kind of.”
You roll your eyes, but your loud laugh kind of counters its intended effect, “Oh, my God, Jaemin!” When you’ve stopped laughing, you explain, “He kept his eyes closed the whole time, I’ll have you know.”
“Bullshit,” he raises his eyebrows, shoving his hands into his pockets, leaning down to be almost eye level with you. “He totally looked.”
You shake your head at him, “You’re an ass.”
“I’m just looking out for you.”
“What would you suggest I do, then?”
“Get me to help instead.”
“You’d definitely look.”
“But I wouldn’t lie about it.”
There’s a moment of silence. You hadn’t noticed the way you’d both been leaning in closer every time you’d spoken, but now the space between you – or lack thereof – is very evident. He seems to notice this at the same time you do, judging by the way his eyes dart from your eyes downwards and back up again.
He lowers his voice, but he doesn’t pull away. “Which one did you end up choosing?”
You’re about to tell him but you choose to give him a sly smile instead, “It’s a surprise.” You step backwards, attempting to shield the boxes behind you.
He quirks an eyebrow at you and pushes off the doorframe with his shoulder, “I’m looking forward to it, then.” And, with that, he’s gone.
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The Bookkeeper – Chapter 6
Chapter 6: 50 First Dates
pairings: logicality, prinxiety words: 3369 chapter warnings: mild swearing, mild NSFW content, reference to death  chapter summary: and hijinks, do in fact, ensue.
[read on ao3] [masterlist]
< previous chapter
Roman has been on two dates before. 
It’s not like he couldn’t get any– oh, he could get many–  but he never really considered the several outings he’d been on ‘dates’. He had met a lot of wonderful people, but when the star met the moon, he didn’t need any more stepping stones; he had landed, safe and sound, in the clouds. 
And he thought about his first date (he liked to think they had only been on one date before a series of adventures) almost constantly. He thought about it whenever he would travel idly through stories detailing a million first dates. He thought about it whenever Logan wasn’t around to guard his precious books. He thought about it whenever the thought of his first book nook crossed his mind. 
Roman has been on two dates before.
His last date was so boring, it killed him.
His first date, however, was in a library. 
--
“That simply won’t do.” 
Logan threw yet another argyle vest into the growing pile of sweater vests on his bed. 
“What should I wear then, Roman?” 
“For a first date? Something else.” 
Logan groaned, turning back to his wooden wardrobe and fishing through all his clothes.
“This isn’t a first date, Roman.” 
“Riiiiight. On a completely unrelated note, Patton told me that he wanted you to have this!” 
Roman flew up to Logan and blew him a kiss. A flurry of red magic hit Logan’s cheek and left a lip-shaped mark. Logan huffed, swatting the magic away as Roman simply laughed, flying into his wardrobe and giving a few clothes a red aura — Roman’s stamp of approval, Logan presumed.
Logan begrudgingly picked out a few of Roman’s selections and began to try them on. 
“He is simply accompanying me on this...art-venture,” Logan continued, slipping on a white button-up. “It is in the pursuit of knowledge–” 
“Call it what you want,” Roman cut him off, tossing a bit of magic to neatly fold Logan’s sleeves just below his elbow. “But I’m telling you, you’re on a date.” 
“And how exactly would you know that?” 
Roman narrowed his eyes at Logan. “I’ve had a very full life before becoming your magical librarian, thank you very much.” 
“...Right.” Logan cleared his throat. A beat of silence passed. Logan half-expected Roman to lift the mood right back up, but all he did was stare at him. 
“I...I’m sorry, Roman,” Logan finally said. 
Roman’s aura dimmed. “It’s all good, Specs. I just...I’ve never seen you care about something this much before. I’m just trying to help.” 
Logan paused, before hesitantly outstretching his hand towards his wardrobe. A trail of navy blue magic was thrown into the closet like a rope and pulled out a grey blazer towards him. 
“Fine.” Logan put on the blazer and went over to the full length mirror leaning against the wall, adjusting the collar. “Say this is–  hypothetically – a date. What would you recommend I do?” 
“Stand a bit straighter and be yourself,” Roman recited, flying up behind Logan and forcing him to straighten his posture. He eventually rested on Logan’s shoulder and smiled. “You tend to show others a good time when you’re having a good time, Logan. I don’t think there’s much you can do that’s wrong.” 
A pause. “Except for wearing ivory socks when they should be eggshell-white.” 
Logan huffed, going over to his dresser as Roman floated right off him. Mid-way through switching out his socks, he heard bells chiming downstairs. Logan checked his watch. 
“How is he already here?” he muttered to himself, slipping on some black dress shoes and taking one more look at himself in the mirror. Logan sighed, smoothing out his tucked in shirt. “How do I look?” 
“...Just fine, Lo.” Logan caught sight of Roman’s smile falling in the mirror. “You look just fine.” 
Logan nodded and rushed down the stairs, Roman trailing not too far behind him. When he got downstairs, he found Patton sitting on the armchair, waiting for him. He wore some bootcut, light-washed jeans and a long, grey cardigan over a light blue dress-shirt. In his hair were little, blue and white plastic butterfly clips buried between each curl. His eyes went starry and wide behind his round glasses as he stood up and grinned. 
“Hey! You look just–  wow .” 
Logan felt himself go warm. “Er, thank you. You...you look good...too.” 
He could hear the muffled sounds of groans behind him. 
Patton giggled, outstretching his hand towards Logan. “Shall we go?” 
Logan swallowed down his nerves and took Patton’s hand, wordlessly nodding. 
As Patton led Logan out, Logan turned around to face Roman.
“Roman, are you sure you do not want to join us?” He patted his small shirt pocket. “You’re always welcome to.” 
Roman’s expression twisted ever so slightly. 
“I’m fine here, Specs,” he finally said with a faded smile. “I don’t know, maybe I can really get some work done around here without you.” 
Logan stuck his tongue out at Roman before finally turning back around and out the door.
Patton smiled and leaned his head against Logan’s shoulder as they began walking towards the theatre. Logan initially stiffened at the contact, but eventually relaxed his shoulders and let himself melt under Patton’s touch. 
Logan took one more look through his shop windows as they passed by it. He caught a glimpse of a blur of red near the shelf behind the front counter. A few seconds later, he saw a brown book floating through the air.
But before he could catch sight of what the book was, Patton dragged him past the window with a smile brighter than the stars above him. And then he was gone.
They arrived early at the theatre, settling in their seats with a large bucket of popcorn. Logan watched a few trailers that advertised some of the romantic-comedies that would be playing for the next few weekends. He grimaced. 
“Why do these movies...hm, how do I say this – exist?” 
Patton laughed. “Maybe someone felt like they needed to exist! Every story means something to someone, Lo.” 
The title and tagline of a rom-com flashed on the screen in front of him: " Around Him for 80 Days": Your Hot-Air Balloon of Love, flying soon next week… 
Logan stared at Patton with a deadpanned expression. Patton sheepishly smiled. 
“Okay, so maybe the answer is money…”
Logan snorted, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth.
The lights around the two eventually dimmed, and Logan let himself be immersed in the movie, as cheesy as it was.
The film eventually began with bright, blue, all-too-cheery skies. And as the film progressed, the plot, Logan told Patton, stayed fixated in its ‘lightly humorous but completely unrealistic’ nature; which, Patton informed him, was not the point. 
The movie followed the shenanigans of Henry falling in love with a girl named Lucy, who suffered from anterograde amnesia. Logan did his best to keep his mouth sealed at every inaccuracy, if only to impress Patton, who was beaming the entire time. He even found himself following in Patton’s laughter like some sort of a strange puppet (though there were some moments that admittedly made him chuckle on his own). 
However, against his will, Logan found himself endeared to the story towards the end. He watched the blurry VCR footage of a wedding unfolding in front of him with wide eyes and, for a brief moment, felt himself being pulled into an unknown world that was still similar to his own. The film’s message wasn’t too hard to extract. Two people were able to form a bond that transcended their adversities because of love and...
‘And someone wanted to share what that feeling was like.’
Logan snuck a glance at Patton, who was tearing up at the end (of course). His vision went blurry for a split second, a flash of navy blue flickering in his line of sight; and then, it was gone.
Logan reached inside the bucket of popcorn to see if there was anything left, and felt his hand graze Patton’s. Warmth fluttered in his chest. Of course. 
When they left the theatre—and eventually got the ice cream Patton had promised—Patton rambled on and on about the movie, with Logan quietly walking beside him. Logan switched his focus between Patton’s words and the cool, night air hitting his face. He furrowed his brow as he became lost in his own thoughts. 
‘ Everything was real, even that story which wasn’t real– but it felt real, it is all real…’
“How about you?” Patton said, snapping Logan out of his trance. “How’d you like the movie? I know it’s not really your thing–” 
“No no,” Logan said with a smile, toying with his spoon in cup. “I cannot believe I am truly saying this but...but I enjoyed it.” 
A gasp. Patton stopped dead in his tracks beside him. He rolled his eyes. 
“Oh come on , you drew this out of me...” 
“Logan Fray–  the Logan Fray– enjoyed a ‘nonsensical’ romance movie?” 
“It was a fine story, Patton, no need to over-sell this–” 
“I can’t wait to tell Roman!” Patton’s smile was oh-so blisteringly bright as he danced ahead of Logan, nearly dropping his ice cream cone and singing a song Logan didn’t recognize. Logan chuckled.
The streets felt emptier in Patton’s company, Logan noticed. He wasn’t quite in solitude, but he was not overrun by a crowd of thought, opinions, and expectations held by not only others, but himself — it was just him and Patton; it was just the two of them together.
“What’s on your mind?” Patton asked, suddenly beside him. Logan blinked, then shook his head. 
“Nothing, Patton. I am having a lovely evening with you.” 
Patton squinted at him. “You have your thinking face on.” 
A pause. 
“I am just thinking of how I could tie this experience to my research,” he finally responded, a feeble attempt at a lie. Patton’s mouth thinned into a small frown. 
“Ah...right.” 
Patton continued to walk, now alongside Logan in an awkward silence. Logan, not really knowing what he had expected, followed suit. 
“Logan?” Patton asked after a few minutes.
“Yes?” 
“...Why do you want to know what the meaning of art is?” 
Logan frowned. “I have to, for my–” 
“For your speech, yeah,” Patton finished for him. “I know it’s for your speech, but...”
“It could possibly serve as an onset to a prospective publication,” Logan tried again.
“It just seems sad,” Patton blurted out. “Don’t you think?” 
Logan felt his heart drop, almost ashamed. Patton seemed to catch on almost immediately.
“Sorry, that was like– wow, so uncalled for–” 
“You’re not wrong.” Logan squeezed his eyes shut. “You are not wrong at all.”
They walked in a bit more silence before Logan sighed. 
“Sometimes, after what feels like a lifetime of barely-surmountable adversities...you tend to lose sight of the path, let alone what lies at the end of it.” Logan looked at Patton, eyes wide and earnest. “Have you ever felt that way?” 
“A little, but not as much as you do, maybe.” Patton shrugged. “I have never really lost anything. Though, I have never had too much to lose, heh.” 
“I see,” Logan murmured. 
A beat of silence. 
“I suppose art has always followed me,” Logan said, voice barely above a whisper. “My grandfather would bring stories to life in front of my very eyes, every single night. And then...well, they died with him. At some point in my life, I couldn’t live without his stories and...and now I can . There...there must be a reason for that, no?” 
“I’m not sure.” Patton looked up at Logan. “Do...do you think you have ever really lived without his stories?” 
Time seemingly stopped around them as Logan felt himself taken aback by Patton’s question. For a few moments, he thought about the shop, the way the books on the shelves have always been there. He thought about his grandfather and the stories he would bring to life. He thought about his parents and the hazy memory of the summer days he’d spend with them in the backyard, looking at insects with a magnifying glass and a toothy grin. He thought about his magic, the way it was first pulled out of him and into the air above his head in a swirl of faintly-coloured wind. 
He thought about Roman, and how he’s always been there. Always. 
(And in his chest, Logan felt a puzzle– one he almost forgot was ever fragmented– slowly piece itself back together.)
They eventually find their way back to Fray and Far Fables, with Logan mostly quiet the whole way back. He had reassured Patton that he did nothing wrong; he was just thinking, as he always did. Patton didn’t press on. 
“Well, here we are,” Logan said as they neared the front door. He awkwardly shifted in his place in front of Patton, averting his glance to the floor. 
“Here we are!” Patton echoed back with a nervous laugh. He smiled at Logan regardless. “I had a really good time, Logan.” 
“I did as well.” A pause. Logan hesitantly added, “I...I enjoy spending time with you.” 
“Aw, Lo! I like spending time with you too!” Patton smiled, almost embarrassed. “You...you make me think! And I like thinking with you, really.” 
Logan couldn’t help but look at Patton. Under the faint lights of his shop, Patton’s eyes looked like a mix of honey and wine, sweet and tempting. And Logan never realized it until now, but his freckles reassembled the same sort of stars he always saw in Patton’s smile.
Logan blinked, and felt Patton’s gaze on him narrow; perhaps he was under similar examination.
“Um...I should get going.” 
Patton laughed, even more nervous than the first time. 
“Oh! Yes, of course!” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And hey, thank you for indulging me in these silly art-ventures, heh. I know you don’t have to, but...well, it’s nice to know that you’re getting something out of these.” 
“I…” Logan took a deep breath. (For a brief moment, he wondered how one would encapsulate this crazy and horrifying feeling in a campy romantic comedy.) 
“I get more from being with you, Patton,” Logan finally said. “You...you challenge me in a way that reminds me that there is more than just a...a finite answer. You make me want to seek more .” A step forward. "And...and there has to be more."
And before he could say anything else, Patton leaned forward on the tips of his toes and pulled Logan into a kiss.
Here’s what Logan knows. 
He knows that despite there being something out there, there is nothing—truly nothing—in this life. There are bonds and spirits and magic that surround the world, sure. But you come from nothing and leave, ultimately, with nothing, because everything you could ever want to have is left behind. 
However, he now knows this as well: the very act of creation immortalizes what little space you make for yourself, and everything that he once believed was true is actually—and this is rather unfortunate—complete and utter bullshit. 
--
Logan felt his back hit the door as Patton pressed against him in their kiss. He swore he could feel both their hearts racing through their clothes. And in that very moment, Logan decided that he would do just about anything to be as close to Patton’s heart as possible, as if the two of their heartbeats could create a symphony if they were just a bit closer, closer, closer.
Logan fumbled for the door handle and with a struggled twist of his wrist, he sent the two of them stumbling backwards into the shop mid-kiss. Patton pulled back for a moment to let out a breathy laugh. Logan, almost desperately, ran his hand through Patton’s hair and pulled him into another kiss, and another, and another. 
They bumped into a few display tables, knocking a few books onto the floor. Logan jumped back at the noise, then looked at Patton. Patton was still clutching onto Logan’s blazer collar, his cheeks glowing red. He wore the smallest and shakiest of smiles. A few of the butterfly clips in his hair were askew, and Logan didn’t even know when this happened, but Patton’s cardigan was completely undone, as well as a few buttons of his shirt. 
He nodded towards the staircase and Patton nodded, seemingly breathless. 
As they were heading up, it dawned on Logan that he had never had someone else upstairs since his grandfather passed. It was mostly rather small and, quite frankly, unimpressive. A rush of insecurity flooded Logan’s being, but all too late. 
There were two doors when they reached the top: to the left was a small, cramped bathroom; and to the right, his bedroom. 
Patton looked at Logan, who sighed and braced himself as he opened the right door. 
In typical attic fashion, the ceiling was slanted towards a small window near the back of the room. Underneath the window was a kitchenette with a sink and a few appliances, as well as a rack of pots and pans lining the walls beside the window. His bed rested on the right side of his room, and across from it were rows of shelves filled with old books and picture frames, with some boxes and drawers laying underneath. A string of fairy lights and small light bulbs were strung from each shelf and illuminated the room with a warm glow.
In a small interlude from their intimacy, Patton looked around in awe.
“ Wow. I can’t believe this has been up here the whole time.” 
Logan shifted in his place, taking a deep breath.
“I know it is not much, but this...well, this is home. Always has been.” 
“I love it, Logan.” Patton looked up at Logan with a small smile. “I love it.” 
Logan grinned, a mix of relief and realization settling in his chest. He felt himself become lighter in Patton’s presence as he pulled Patton into another kiss, one that was softer than the previous ones.
And Logan held Patton close as if he was every answer he was searching for, as if their embrace could create a space in the vast world for just the two of them; as if life was no longer empty, but full. 
Logan held Patton close in a warm, ‘ thank-you-for-all-of-this’ kiss, and then closed the door behind him.
When he heard the sound of the door closing upstairs, Roman decidedly floated up from behind the counter. He looked at the staircase and in his mind, remembered the sounds of Logan and Patton’s hurried footsteps leading to Logan’s bedroom. 
Roman flew over to lock the front door and took a glance out the window. He stared at the place where Logan and Patton were standing before he had hidden behind the counter; he recalled the way they looked at each other, the way they held each other in such closeness and warmth. And he recalled seeing something that he knew Logan wouldn’t have noticed: he saw the glow of a pulsing, navy blue aura surrounding Logan when he kissed Patton. 
Roman held his gaze with the city outside of the shop, and realized with a shattered heart that he had been in here longer than he had originally planned for; that someone was waiting for him in the same way he knew Logan had been waiting for someone like Patton (even if that someone was there, he was always fucking there–)
At that moment, Roman realized that he held every answer that his new life ever needed, yet everything was out of reach once again.
Fighting back tears, Roman locked the door and quietly floated back onto the surface of the front counter. The brown, leather-bound copy of The Midnight Forest laid open in front of him. 
Roman looked up at the staircase one more time, forcing himself to not hear the giggles and the creaking of the bed and the love, love, love. 
He steeled himself and silenced it all, before pressing his hands against the pages of The Midnight Forest and disappearing in a flurry of red smoke.
next chapter > 
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thecleverdame · 4 years
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Control and Release - 33
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Series Masterlist
TEDTalk!Sam x Reader
Summary: After the rest of the staff is caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. As the arrangement becomes more defined, you and Sam begin a sexual adventure with dangerous consequences.  
Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.
Beta: @ilikaicalie
Parts 1-42 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories, including Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<
-
You enjoy being out, it’s great to see your colleagues outside the office. People’s personalities come out here in the real world. But somewhere between your third and fourth drink, the bar doesn't seem like where you’re supposed to be.
Going back to Boston feels like both a beginning and an end. Everything will change once you get home and your relationship with Sam becomes public. And there’s a piece of your relationship you find yourself mourning. These quiet, private moments here in London. You’ve practically been living together. Going home means spending more time at your own place. Before it felt like independence and self-care. Now it just sounds lonely.
Smiling at Millie, you check your phone for the tenth time. It’s almost midnight. Sam must be done with dinner by now. If you leave now you could make it back in time to order dessert from room service.
“You’re always checking your phone.” Millie rolls her eyes. She points to Cole who’s across the room engaged in some rather animated storytelling with Mick. “Your boss is right there. What are you worried about?”
“I just wanted to see how late it was.” You tip back your glass, downing the last of the vodka.
“You’re not leaving already, are you?” She grabs your arm. “Leaving me here all alone?”
“You’ll be fine, I’m tired. I need to sleep.”
“Yeah, well no wonder. You’ve been working too hard. I feel like I’ve hardly seen you since we got here.” Millie helps you pull on your coat. “See you on the plane.”
-
As you walk down the hall heading towards Sam’s room you let two fingers trail along the wall. You’re a little drunk, enough to let your inhibitions go. Luckily Sam is always more than willing to fool around.
You fish the room card out of your handbag and slide it into the door.
What you find is the otherworldly sight of Sam sitting on the couch, and a naked Toni on her knees beside him. Doing a double take, you stare at Sam who looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His hair is askew. You don’t want to imagine how it got that way.
“Good evening, Y/N.” Tony flashes a smarmy grin. “We didn’t think you’d be home so soon.”
You blink twice and step back out into the hallway.
Sam is fucking Toni Bevell.
No, it can’t be true.
But you just saw it. Witnessed the proof with your own eyes. You can’t think, all you can do is feel and there’s an avalanche of emotion headed your way. Your hands are shaking when you hear Sam call your name.
Maybe if you just close your eyes this will all go away.
“What?!” You turn to him, getting a good look. His shirt is rumpled, hair wild, sticking out in all directions. You’re going to be sick. “Jesus Christ Sam! I can’t stand to look at you right now.”
“Don’t overreact,” he instructs, taking a step toward you. You want to slap him, to beat on his chest and scream in his face. If anyone has a reason to react, it’s you.
“Don’t overreact?!” you erupt. How dare he tell you what to do. You’ve never hated anyone more than you hate him at this moment. Toni’s smug, shit-eating grin comes back to you. They must think you’re so naive to trust him. “Fuck you! I trusted you. I must be so stupid. It never even crossed my mind that you would do something like this.”
“Nothing happened,” Sam says, holding up his hands.
Is that even possible? The sight of him tells you everything you need to know. He must think he’s got you wrapped around his little finger.
“Don’t lie to me. Something sure as fuck happened.” Your heart breaks at the sight of him. “For a guy who’s all about the details you’re not covering your tracks very well. You’ve got her lipstick on your mouth and your fly is still down.”
All the anger quickly sours into sadness and embarrassment. All his talk of love and commitment and then he’s fucking this aristocratic bitch the minute you’re out of the room.
“What?” Sam feels at his crotch, looking genuinely surprised to find his fly down. “Look, she tried and I-”
Does he honestly think he can talk his way out of this? As if you didn’t just see what you saw.
“And you what? Let her take her clothes off? Did you fuck her?”
You don’t want the answer. The thought of Sam and Toni is wretched.
“No, of course not,” he snips, as if you’re the one being ridiculous.
The heartbreak bubbles over and there’s no stopping the tears.
“I don’t get it.” Your voice breaks as tears slide down both cheeks. Why would he do this? You rack your brain trying to remember if there were any warning signs. He’s been all in, fully present. You didn’t see this coming. “I thought we were in a good place. I try everything you want. I gave you a blowjob just this morning. What could you possibly want from her that I’m not giving you?”
“Nothing.” He reaches out, moving toward you and you have to step back. It takes everything within you not to throw yourself at him. You want to pretend this never happened and go back to the happiness that existed only minutes ago. “Nothing happened. I know this looks bad. I get that. But nothing happened. You came back at the worst possible time, but nothing was going to happen. That’s the truth.”
Fuck him. You had bad timing?
“Oh, this is my fault?” you yell. “I need to get out of here. I have to think.”
You just need to have a second to collect yourself without him right there. You can’t think straight.
“Don’t leave.” He grabs your arm, forcing you to look at him. “If you leave it automatically makes things worse than they are. You can stay here and be pissed at me. We can talk. I’ll sleep on the couch. Just don’t leave, please don’t leave.”
He’s right, but the idea of going back into the room where he’s just done God knows what with Toni is stomach-turning.
Crossing your arms over your chest you look toward the door. “She’s still in there.”
“She’s leaving.” He puts his hands on your shoulders and you almost pull away from him. What if this is it? What if this is the last time he puts his hands on you? “Just let me get her out of there. Don’t go anywhere.”
Sam disappears back into the room and you immediately panic. You’re about to really lose it, so you head for the elevator and press every button until the doors close.
There’s a bathroom in the lobby and you lock yourself in the first stall, sinking to the ground and promptly sobbing into your hands. How is this how your life turned out? Cheated on by Sam fucking Winchester of all people. It wouldn’t be the first time. In fact, this makes a perfect streak, five out of five. Every guy you’ve ever been with has been disloyal at some point. You should have expected it.
Scrolling through your phone you look for someone to call. Your mom...no. She’d overreact. You could tell Millie, confess the whole thing. She loves you and she’s a good friend. She’d order a pizza and stay up all night talking about what a pig he is. But that’s not what you need, either.
Cole. He’s always said he’s there to listen. Telling him the truth about your relationship with Sam would make everything easier. And Cole cares about you. You know that much is true. But running to Cole seems wrong. It feels like retaliation because you know how much Sam would hate it.
The phone vibrates and Sam’s name pops up. You almost answer, but the image of he and Toni is too vivid. Her breasts in his face, the surprise when he saw you at the door. You press the power button on the phone and watch as the screen goes black.
This hurts so bad.
You find yourself suddenly sober and in desperate need of something to take the edge off. Cleaning yourself up as best you can, you cross the lobby and enter the hotel bar. There are a dozen or so people scattered around.
Finding an empty seat you order a shot of tequila and a beer.
You trusted Sam with everything. Up until twenty minutes ago, your biggest fear was that he would walk away, but never did you imagine he would cheat. Your sex life is active to say the least, and he’s definitely not looking for an emotional connection.
Maybe he was just bored. Maybe it’s his own personal brand of self-sabotage.
Wiping a single tear away, you sip your beer, watching an older couple happily chatting at the end of the bar.
The longer you sit, the more the details come back to you. The way she was perched over him, the red lipstick at the corner of his mouth. You’re irrational and semi-drunk but aware of both. You really want to call Cole and disappear for a night, really make him hurt the way he’s hurt you.
If you leave now, everything is worse. He was right about that.
He said nothing happened. Nothing was going to happen. And Sam doesn’t lie. Maybe about his feelings, but he’s never lied to you about anything else. He’s brutally honest to a fault.
-
You stand outside the door to his room for several minutes trying to decide if this is what you really want to do. But in the end, you knock on the door.
Sam answers immediately. His eyes flutter closed when he sees you, Adam’s apple bobbing as he shakes his head and steps to the side as a silent invitation to come in.
“I thought you left,” he admits. His voice is tight. He looks mad and you wonder if this is directed at you, Toni or the fact that he got caught.
“I went to the bar downstairs. Not far.” You stand just inside the door. For the first time, this feels like his space instead of the home away from home you’ve shared for the past two months.
“You weren’t answering your phone.” He runs a hand up the back of his neck. “I was going to come and find you.”
“I shut it off. I needed to think. I’m here now.”
His wool coat is thrown over the back of the couch and he’s got one sneaker on. He’s in sweatpants and his face is clean of any trace of Toni, but his hair is mussed and his eyes are red. You’ve never seen him quite like this before. He looks like a mess.
“I need you to tell me what happened. And if I feel you’re not being one hundred percent truthful, I am going to leave.” You look him in the eye for a fleeting second before taking a seat in the closest chair.
“Okay.” Sam nods adamantly, perching on the edge of the sofa. His knee is bouncing up and down at an exponential rate, he’s agitated. “We came back here after dinner to go over projections.”
“Go on.” It takes everything within you to remain cool collected.
“She came out of the bathroom like that. I told her to stop but she kept it up. She always fucking pushes to get her way.” His hands curl into fists. “Nothing was going to happen. I told her to stop, to get dressed.”
“Why was there lipstick on your mouth?” you ask, voice shaking. “And your fly was down…”
“She kissed me. I pushed her away. I don’t know about the rest of it, honestly. I couldn’t believe it was happening. I would never do that to you. I don’t want her.”
“You know Sam…” You stop to look at him. God, you want to believe him so badly. “I get that you can’t control her actions. And I understand that you had no idea she intended to make an advance...but fuck. You thought coming back to the room was okay? Our room. You came back here with a woman you used to fuck, alone. That seemed like a good idea to you?”
“I didn’t think of it like that.” He presses his lips together, hands on his knees, eyes locked on your eyes. “I don’t think of her as a woman I used to fuck. I think of her as a colleague.”
“Oh, well.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “That’s funny, but I exclusively think of her as a woman you used to fuck.”
You stare at each in silence, the seconds feel like hours. This is a complete role reversal, you’re in complete control here. You get sole determination about what happens next.
“You didn’t think that it would bother me?” You ask a genuine question. “For the two of you to be alone together in a hotel room?”
“I know you don’t like her. But I thought she’d be gone before you got back and that it wouldn’t be an issue.”
“Do you see how that’s problematic for me? I almost called Cole tonight. Not for anything weird, just to listen because I needed a friend. But I thought about how you’d feel if I did that. I could have called him, met him and not told you. But the difference between us is that I wouldn’t do that. You mean enough to me that I would never want you to feel the way you’ve just made me feel.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, looking down at his hands. “The thought never crossed my mind.”
“Did you do anything with Toni tonight?”
“No.” He looks up at you.
“Was there any part of you that wanted to?”
“No.” He confirms succinctly.
“Have you been with anyone else since we’ve been together?”
“No.” This question bothers him, his brow furrows. “Do you think that’s something I would do?”
“I didn’t think I’d come home to find you with Toni, but it happened. I just want to be sure there’s nothing else I’m missing.”
“No. I haven’t been with anyone else. You’re the only person I want.”
“I see.”
“Are you going to stay here tonight?” he asks. And for the first time, you get a glimpse of a Sam that you didn’t know existed. He’s crying. It’s just one tear, but it’s there. “I’m trying. I’ve been trying to do things the right way. To make a life for us. I shouldn’t have brought her back here. I know that now. I thought you left tonight and I didn’t think you were going to come back...I don’t know what I’d do.”
“I almost didn’t come back,” you admit.
“Why did you then?”
“Because I love you,” you explain matter of factly. “And I trust you. I couldn’t throw those things away, I needed to hear it from you, hear what happened.”
“Is there anything else you want to know?”
“No.” You shake your head. You want to go to him, hold him tight, but it’s too soon. There’s more you need to talk about and it might as well be now. “I was thinking about when we go home. I should move in with you. We should live together. How do you feel about that?”
“I would like that very much.” He smiles an exhausted little smile, relief overtaking his body and he slouches forward. He looks down at his hands again, sucking in a breath. “I bought a ring. I’m going to ask you to marry me.”
All the air evaporates out of the room. Did he just say what you think he said?
“Are you serious right now?” you whisper, eyes the size of saucers.
“Yes. All I could think when I came back to find you and you weren’t in the hallway is I have this diamond waiting back in Boston and you’re never going to know. So, I’m telling you. I love you. I’m committed. I’m going to ask you to marry me.”
“Well…” you don’t have words. An hour ago it seemed as if the world was falling apart and now this. “When are you going to ask me?”
“I can’t tell you that.” He presses a thumb into the opposite palm. “What are you thinking right now?”
“That I’m going to say yes.” You let out a laugh, overcome with emotion. “But I’m still mad at you right now. You can’t just magically make everything better by talking about a proposal. We’re going to have to talk about Toni. Assuming she’s going to continue working for you, I need there to be clear rules.”
“Anything you want.” He nods adamantly. “You can have anything you want.”
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peace-coast-island · 3 years
Text
Diary of a Junebug
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Rainy day gyroids
Rainy days are the perfect excuse to stay inside with a cup of warm tea and a good show to watch while letting the day pass on by. How fitting is it that the theme of this gyroid event happens to be rainy days?
Joining us on this rainy day adventure are Robert and Mace, two former members of Jamie's entourage back when she lived on Peace Coast Island. Robert Azarias is a writer and actor, best known for his work in the TV show Faerie Town, which just ended earlier this year. Mace Callaghan is an actor whose career kicked off thanks to people like Jamie and his cousin Amelia, who's also an actor as well as a producer. Both have been super busy as they're on a new show that's set to premiere in the fall so they're at the camp for a short vacation after pretty much working nonstop for the past several weeks.
The new show is called Mount Barley, RFD - which stands for rural free delivery - and it's about a journalist who moves back to his old hometown to take care of his aging father and reconnects with his old friends. Mace plays the main character, Alex, an ambitious creative who has a tendency to get carried away with his ideas. Robert's the co-executive producer/showrunner and has a recurring role as Jerry, a friend and colleague of Alex's who sometimes gets dragged into everyone else's problems due to bad timing. Other characters include Alex's dad Emmett, the wise father figure everyone looks up to, Blossom the pharmacist who's a neighbor to Alex, Leia, a childhood friend and work colleague, and Deedee, the hairstylist who serves as Alex's source for gossip.
Having insider information is kinda a blessing and a curse. Well, what I mean by curse is that I can't say too much about something because of non-disclosure stuff, which means I have to be careful not to let anything slip. Especially with a lot of show creators, writers, and actors being active on social media, it's kinda easy to accidentally reveal something that wasn't supposed to publicly come out yet. It's not usually anything super confidential but some companies are more particular about what people say more than others. While being able to interact with crew members has its perks, it also has its drawbacks - then again, that's social media in general.
Robert's previous show, Faerie Town, ended last year after five seasons. A good number of the entourage members were in that show like April Wingate, Melody Muto, Linus Cooper, and Cecelia Argent. Robert was a writer on the show as well as a recurring character who became more prominent from season three onwards.
Ending the show was one of those cases where they were told ahead of time that they weren't going to get renewed. By then, the overall story they wanted to tell was coming to a conclusion so it made sense to start wrapping things up. Being an ensemble show, it kinda suffered from a large cast - I'm overall satisfied with the way the main characters were handled but at the same time I felt that it could've been balanced better. And I'll admit, the writing during the last two seasons were weak, but not to the point where the show went downhill.
The way I see it, there's a difference between a show going downhill and a show where the writing isn't as top notch. Downhill is bad, as in this has a negative impact on how I feel about the show in general. An example of downhill is Popular Besties, which, looking back wasn't entirely good, but I enjoyed it as a kid. It was one of those shows which the quality dipped a lot - and knowing the issues going on behind the scenes, it makes a lot of sense as to why - and it gets to the point where you're watching a new episode out of obligation or dropping it all together.
Hogan Family Values is an example of a show that has fallen to weak writing. Like Faerie Town, it has a big cast, though it struggles more in terms of having too many characters to handle. It's ending after three seasons, which has ten episodes left. Season three started out pretty strong, but since then it has been a mixed bag. We all kinda suspected that it was ending as some of the episodes kinda had that vibe and that was later confirmed by the creator just recently.
I think the biggest problem with this season is that the pacing's kinda rushed and I feel like the show has kinda written itself into a corner by trying to wrap up various plotlines while introducing a bunch of new characters/plot points at the same time. On one hand the show could use another season just to pad things out a bit, but at the same time it makes sense why they would end it there.
The show's still good though, it's just season three doesn't have the same spark as the first two did. I mean, the stronger episodes of this season are some of the best in the show overall while the weaker ones aren't entirely terrible, just mediocre, or at worst, somewhat boring. And despite my reservations at the moment, I have faith in the crew that the ending will be satisfying, even if rushed.
A show with a satisfying ending is Star's Universe, which has become one of my top favorite shows of all time. I think, if it wasn't for the network, the show could've easily run for another season to even out the pacing towards the end. It also suffered from the uncertainty of being renewed, which then led to a movie. While working on the movie, the network decided to order an additional season at the last minute to fully wrap things up. There's still a lot the show can touch on but it's all extra stuff - and while it could've focused more on the supporting cast, I can understand why they couldn't because it's essentially not their story.
As for the overall story the show wanted to tell, they not only succeeded, but exceeded my expectations. The conclusion's satisfying in a way that it's open enough to revisit but if that's the end, then I'm happy with that as well.
I think Star's Universe has ruined me in terms of judging series endings. It still kinda doesn't feel real that the show literally just ended less than a year ago. The writing has also remained consistently strong for the most part and it's just a brilliant show. Now I feel like binging on a bunch of episodes. I guess you can say it's one of my comfort shows.
While collecting gyroids, we got to talking about Mount Barley, RFD a bit as well as catch up on life in general. Robert's got an interesting backstory that Hollywood has been wanting to make into a movie for years. He was known as the Etienne Falls Baby as he was born en route on the ill fated train that crashed in the desert. His father died in the accident while his mother passed away shortly after, leaving Robert in the care of three friends who helped bring him into the world. Only one of them survived and he, while carrying Robert, made a dangerous trek through the desert to find help. After the tragic ordeal, he adopted Robert, becoming somewhat known as a hero.
Mace is the nephew of actor Gary Stewart, who's well known on stage and screen, as well as his daughters Amelia and Lesley. It was Amelia who helped Mace pursue his dream of acting by helping him stand up to his father, who was against it. At the time he was going through a lot and as a result of everything, he finally had enough. It wasn't easy going against his father's wishes, but he had to or else he'd be stuck working at the bank being his father's successor.
He's still hoping for a reconciliation, though it seems unlikely at the moment. Since moving to the island, Mace rarely spoke to his father, who has pretty much disowned him. Back home he heard that his father's not too crazy about Mace having his own show as that'll make him more well known. At least his cousins and uncle have always been supportive of him - he had always been closer to them, especially after his mom passed.
It's been raining all day, though it started out as a light drizzle at first. I don't mind the rain too much - it adds to the rainy day theme! I love how gray and cloudy the sky gets - there's just something about rain that's calming and cozy. Also, it was the perfect excuse to break out my new umbrella - and it was worth every leaf ticket because not only it looks pretty, it kept me dry. Aside from the mud, collecting gyroids in the rain was a lot of fun!
When it started pouring we headed back to the cabin to begin crafting some stuff. I was surprised that we managed to collect a lot of gyroids today, then again, I think the rain might've helped some. We also managed to do some fishing and bug catching as well, which the guys had never done before. Robert's a fast learner when it comes to fishing - and a lucky one too as he managed to catch two king salmons!
Aside from collecting gyroids, we didn't get to be able to do too much sightseeing today. Once the weather clears up, I'm thinking of setting up a picnic in the meadow and a short hike along the trail. Then, depending on Gulliver's schedule, I was hoping we can catch a ride with him and explore an island or two. Robert mentioned that he always wanted to try out sailing so I want him to experience that. As for Mace, he says he's content with anything the camp has in store and he enjoys running errands for the campers.
With the rain pouring, we all were in the mood for some tea so I put on the kettle as soon as we got inside. While waiting for the tea we set up the TV to watch some shows while helping Daisy Jane package orders from her shop. Nothing like cozying up with a nice hot cup of tea on a cloudy rainy day!
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thatboomerkid · 3 years
Text
PORTALS
We open weird portals to the Underworld and pull the Damned out for cash [part 1]
Hellcrashers Fiction by Nonbinary Bones
I broke open the factory door with a crowbar and entered a decrepit manufacturing plant. The soot-covered facility went bankrupt years ago and still leaked chemical waste into the “Mighty Missisip’” several decades later.
For a brief moment, the only noises were the icy wind racing over the waterfront and the soft ticking sound of the van’s engine behind me. The side panel of the van slid open.
“Sweet baby Jesus, it’s colder than a witches’ tit in a brass bra out here!” Felix exclaimed.
I nodded my agreement as a mechanized lift lowered my co-worker’s wheelchair to the ground.
Jackie hopped from the passenger seat, her military boots crunching on the wooden timbers of the boardwalk.
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Sections of the greasy promenade had rotted away, revealing the polluted harbor below. The rancid waters stank of dead fish and petroleum. A huge rickety crane loomed overhead, its base squatting in the water, rusting its way towards oblivion.
Jackie opened the back of the van, rooted around, then pulled a bulletproof vest on over her tank top. She held another vest out in her grimy hand. I took it with a grateful nod.
Vasquez put The Club on the steering wheel, a sunshield on the dash, and began inspecting his gear. He may have been an OCD prick, but he knew how to plan a job.
New Kid hovered nearby, hands in his pockets.
“Hey Bitchnugget, try doing something useful for a change!” Felix jibed.
We grabbed our camping gear and entered the factory. Light filtered in through broken windows from sodium streetlamps outside. The center of the room was illuminated, but darkness clung to the corners. Conveyor belts and walkways filled the cavernous space like a real-life version of Chutes and Ladders. The air reeked of grease and metal. Rusted machinery spoke of long years of disuse.
Felix accidentally rolled right through a pile of animal droppings and cried out in disgust at getting shit in the tire treads. His shouts echoed in the gloom.
I dropped a duffel to the floor and opened it up, revealing a cache of weapons. We divvied up the contents so each of us had gas masks and guns.
“Alright everyone, huddle up.” I said. Everyone gathered in a semi-circle. “Vasquez, give us the rundown.”
“Today is a standard snatch-and-grab. Our target is named Aurora Laura.” He held up a centerfold spread ripped from an adult magazine. The lewd pose didn’t leave much to the imagination. “Real name Laura Brown. Originally from Omaha.” He squinted at the glossy pages. “Measures 34B, Waist 25, Hips 26. Likes puppies and men who aren’t afraid to show their vulnerable side.”
The New Kid blushed, Jackie snorted, and Felix grinned.
“We have reliable intel that the client’s Dearly Departed is being held in a Domain known as Hotel California. Basically, it’s worse than the worst ‘No-Tell Motel’ you’ve ever imagined; word on the street says each Dweller gets their own room, so we’re searching door to door.” He sighed.
The rest of us groaned out loud. “The floor-plan tends to change on its own, so watch out for that. This isn’t Scooby-Doo: we do not split up under any circumstances.”
“If you see something valuable on the way out, grab it. And I’m talking something portable. Smaller than a breadbox. We don’t want another incident like last time.”
Vasquez looked pointedly at Felix before continuing.
“Garrett, you’ll pop the Cherry for us.”
I nodded in response.
“We go in, acquire the target, and get the fuck out of Dodge. Any questions?” Vasquez looked at each of us with an upraised eyebrow.
New Kid raised his hand like a schoolboy.
“Why am I not surprised?” Felix asked the ceiling.
“What’s a Cherry?”
“It’s a door, Kid. A gateway Down Below Where The Bad Men Go.”
“Oh, right.” he said, blushing.
“Okay then, let’s get to it.” I said.
Past wasp’s nests and sticky linoleum floors I found a door with an “Employees Only” sign on it. The door-frame sagged, dislocated from rotted walls heavy with mildew. The door had warped over time so even though it was unlocked I almost couldn’t get it to budge. The factory door bore battle scars and boot prints from a hard fight with someone who lacked a crowbar. Someone like me. Busting open the door revealed a tiny office containing a desk, chairs, and an empty safe. Nothing worthwhile. I closed the door again.
From my backpack I took a jar of a milky yellow fluid and a barbecue basting brush. When I unscrewed the lid, a nasty rotting smell wafted out. My nose wrinkled in distaste as I began painting the door hinges in slime.
“What the Hell is that?” inquired the New Kid over my shoulder.
“Kid, Crashers never say the H-Word. Never. Not even Topside if we can avoid it. I told you this before we started.” I said.
“Aw, come on! That’s some superstitious bullshit!”
“I mean it.” I glared at him. “Watch your fucking mouth or you’ll jinx the whole Crash. Do not say the H-Word.”
“Sorry. What the heck is that?”
“Ever hear of ‘bukkake’?” I replied.
“No?”
“Then don’t worry about it.”
“Okay, but why are you doing that?”
“This particular Cherry won’t pop until the hinges have been lubed with actual body secretions. And before you ask: no, spit won’t cut it. Just be grateful the gateway doesn’t need it fresh.”
“Are they all like that?”
“No, some of them only open at midnight or you have to make a cat cry in pain. It depends on the Cherry.”
“Can I ask you a question?” the Kid asked, shuffling his feet uncertainly.
“Another one? Sure, Kid. Ask away.” I replied patiently.
“What makes a Cherry open where it does? I mean, if they can open anywhere how come a gateway doesn’t open up in the middle of Times Square? Or in a daycare?”
I paused for a long moment, considering.
“Rust and despair. Plants need water and sunshine. Mushrooms need shade and shit. Cherries need rust and despair. Simple as that.”
When I finished painting the hinges the door creaked open on its own, this time revealing a rickety wooden staircase down into darkness. Felix cracked a couple chemical glow sticks and shook them. They began glowing with a golden-green light and he tossed them through the doorway.
I grabbed the handles behind Felix’s wheelchair and edged it closer to the Cherry.
“Hey careful with the merchandise, peasant!”
“I ain’t afraid to kick a cripple downstairs.”
Felix stood up on the other side of the portal.
“What the fuck? You’re just faking?” Kid asked in an angry, disbelieving tone with eyes wide as dinner plates.
“No, Cuntpuddle.” Felix said, rolling his eyes. “My legs don’t work Topside, but they work just fine in the Nether.”
“Topside?”
“That’s just a slang term for the world we live in. Topside is the place that the Damned covet beyond all else and the rest of us take pretty much entirely for granted. Don’t know what you got ‘till it’s gone, as they say. It’s the world you see out your window, where we get born, fuck around, and die. It is what it is and for the most part it’s a pretty okay place to be. For the most part.”
“But how can he walk on the other side of the gate?”
“I don’t know Kid, but as soon as you figure it out let me know.” I said.
We turned on our lights and the five of us moved slowly downwards, footsteps echoing in the gloom.
The staircase was built out of salvaged boards, no two of which were the same; different lengths, different colors. There were fourteen steps exactly, but the topmost step was smaller than all the others and bright red. A last minute addition to avoid Unlucky 13 perhaps.
My nerves were on edge as we descended. Every little creaking step telegraphed our movements to anything lurking nearby.
At the bottom of the stairs we found a diseased and barren wasteland. The ground was black and filthy like the Athabasca oil sands of Canada. My throat and lungs ached. Noxious smoke filled the air and made breathing a chore.
I saw a hundred burning fires lighting up the distant mountains. That made me real tense. I’d watched “The Hills Have Eyes” once and the things down here would have put cannibal mutant rapists to shame.
Glancing backwards, I saw the staircase slowly disappearing like it’d never existed.
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In front of us, our destination was uncomfortably close. Squatting less than two hundred yards away was a dilapidated motel modeled after every circa-1940s cheaper-than-shit roadside inn on “the wrong side of the tracks” but worse. The walls had been marred by fire. A flickering red neon sign stuttered “VACANCY” into the night. On the porch was a screen door creaking back and forth on its hinges as if begging for relief. Acid rain tinkled weakly against the corrugated tin roof.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Hotel California.” I said.
Inside, we found rusted pipes leaking raw sewage and rotting the stucco. Fungal blooms spread over paper-thin plywood with the texture of rotten leaves splintering at the softest touch. Nearly every window was boarded up over the remnants of razor-sharp glass.
We searched room to room, seeing some of the sickest things you’ve never imagined. Things that can’t be unseen. It took us almost three days to find our target. I think the New Kid must have puked twenty times during that stretch.
Sleep was damn-near impossible for a variety of reasons. The moth-eaten sheets were stained yellow, constantly and consistently damp with every body fluid imaginable.
Thanks to the AC units mounted in the walls, most of the rooms were freezing cold and when I say freezing cold I mean actual people covered in actual ice. Never thought I’d see someone with their own urine frozen in an icicle hanging from their crotch.
Some of the rooms were blazing hot, literally cooking the inhabitants alive.
“Mmm! Smells like down-home cooking!” Felix quipped as he caught a whiff of scorched human flesh.
The ice machine down the hall never actually worked until you were attempting to sleep at which point it spontaneously turned on. It wouldn’t do a damn thing when you wanted it to but it would happily and loudly make the sound of a thousand blenders grinding away at a fistful of pebbles as soon as you laid down.
The first night we were camping in one of the motel rooms when the old TV in the corner suddenly turned itself on, self-tuned those old rabbit ear antennas covered in foil, and scared the ever-loving crap out of us by blasting some repugnant program at maximum volume.
The New Kid unplugged the television from the wall, but it stayed on anyway, causing him to start pounding on it angrily.
“Kid, quit making such a damn racket.” Vasquez said.
“Okay, fine.” the New Kid huffed, throwing himself down on the bed. “So here’s a question.”
“Jerkstain, your entire life is one big fucking question.” Felix quipped.
“Where do those shows come from? Is it something the Hotel made to screw with us?”
“Actually, that is a good question.” I said, busily stripping, cleaning, and reassembling my rifle. “I’m fairly certain those shows are piped in from CRT.”
“CRT?”
“It’s another Domain in the Big Bad. Except instead of a motel imagine a sewer filled with television sets and bad wiring. All the TV channels are fucked-up versions of the worst shows ever made.”
“Yeah Dickcheese, if you survive this job maybe someday you’ll get to go there!” Felix said, holding out a flask.
The Kid ignored the jibe but accepted the flask and took a swig of whiskey.
“For example?”
“Okay, you’ve seen the show ‘Survivor?’ Now imagine it’s more like the Hunger Games except the contestants hunt and eat each other to survive.”
“Jesus…”
“Trust me Kid; you really don’t want to watch anything on that boob tube. Here’s a question for you, Kid. How’d you get into this line of work?”
“Well… I dropped out of high school and started getting into trouble, hanging out with a bad crowd. One night my gang broke into a moving van and the cops spotted us. So I ran and made it into the basement of an abandoned meat packing plant. Found a door leading to a hallway made of baby teeth. The cops following me got eaten by a monster made out of tumors and barbed wire. Bought me time to get back Topside. After that, it was only a matter of time before I found more Crashers. What about you guys?”
“Back in the day I was a long-haul trucker until I went into the wrong goddamn gas station. My partner never really came out again. I found that I’d lost the use of my legs when I dragged myself out of the Pit. I figure if I keep Crashing I’ll find a way to make them work permanently.”
“How about you?”
“Me? I’m in it for the money. Cold, hard cash. This ain’t no charity; I got bills to pay. When I do a job, I expect to get paid.” I said.
“Amen to that, brother.” Jackie said, tilting a bottle in my direction with a nod. “The bigger the paycheck the better.”
“How about you Vasquez? How’d you get into this line of work?”
“I’ve been doing this my whole life, man.” Vasquez replied.
“Say what now?”
“When I was a kid, I was a refugee. My dad brought me to the U.S. from Cuba on a raft made out of old plastic barrels he lashed together. I think I was about nine, maybe ten years old at the time.”
“You’re a Cuban?”
“Cuban-American to you, gringo. I’m a Hialeah boy, born and raised. Before ‘95, if a Cubano set foot on American soil they got the chance to apply for residency status a year later. Lucky for us, we made it ashore before we got picked up on Miami Beach. Dry-Feet, they called us.”
“Dad got a job working graveyard shift at a gas station and I started going to school. I always walked down there by myself to bring Dad a soda and we’d sit and chat for a while. One night I’m going down there right before bedtime and there’s all these police out front with that yellow crime scene tape strung up across the door. The cops say that the robbers put lit matches all over him before they killed him.” He takes a long swig from the bottle.
“So Mom couldn’t afford the rent without Dad, and after that we were sleeping rough. Couch-surfing, church pews, shelters, and sidewalks.”
“My God…” Kid said.
“God? God can’t help us, man. See, Satan led his army to storm the Gates of Heaven and drove God and the angels out. The demons smashed his palace of blue-moon marble into dust and Satan sits on the Throne of Heaven. That’s why our world is so fucked up.”
“So Dad’s spirit came to me. He was bloody and there were these tiny flames burning all over his body. He told me that demons found doors to our world. That’s why the gates keep opening, man.”
“Dad told me that he was joining God’s secret army of angels to take back Heaven. He told me that I needed to learn to fight. To stay strong and smart, so I could count on myself, no one else. To fight back against evil. So I went looking for the gates. You look hard enough and long enough, eventually you find something. And I did.”
“Man… is it worth it?” the Kid asked.
“That’s not the right question.” I said.
“Huh?”
“The real question is do you censor yourself or not?”
“What do you mean?”
“Option A: you say the things you ought to, and shut your mouth on what you actually think. You wear the clothes you’re told to wear, go where they say to go when you’re told to go there, do the things they tell you to do. In return, you get the job, the girl, the two-point-five kids, a white picket fence, and a dog. You get to eat three square meals a day, get laid occasionally, and probably enough money to get you everything you need, some of what you want, and a bed to sleep in with a roof over your head. You’re a slave but you’re comfortable.”
“Option B: you get nothing. You get fuck-all and you’ll like it because you’re free. Go where you want when you want and do what you want to do when you want to do it. Comfort means fuck-all because you’ll probably get arrested, get your head kicked in, or both.”
“So my point is do whatever you want to do because I really don’t give a shit, Kid.”
We sat there silently for the rest of the night. There was really nothing more to say.
It was the second night when the New Kid decided that he actually did want to watch something on TV. Scrambled Porn Sally was pole dancing and the fuzzy static bar was right where you didn’t want it to be.
We found the Kid staring and slack-jawed, his nose touching the flickering television screen. His eyes were watering and blood trickled from one nostril.
I shook him out of it and he mumbled a quiet “thank you.” Every so often I’d catch him stealing glances at the television when he thought I wasn’t looking.
If you were still so exhausted that none of that kept you awake, the phone rang and room service cheerfully provided a complimentary wake-up call just as you were nodding off.
Then there were the cock-roaches. Behind one door we found one of the Lost covered in chittering insects. Carnivorous, angry little bastards about three inches long and sporting chitinous dicks.
The moment it was dark the cock-roaches came scuttling out to bite a hole in your skin, pump their nasty bug-dongs in the bleeding orifice, and lay eggs in your flesh. After a few minutes, the cock-roaches deposited a load of eggs and goop into the poor bastard which then burst open and made a new swarm.
Hiding in every nook and cranny, they skittered into hiding beneath the bed and in the closet when illuminated by a flashlight mounted on the barrel of an AR-15.
The New Kid squashed a couple roaches beneath his boot and the rubber sole began to sizzle. “Damn it! That burns like battery acid!” he shouted.
“Then don’t do that.” I calmly said.
On Day Three we found a Damned that swore up and down he’d seen our target. We’d bribed him with a little baggie of black tar heroin that offered a brief respite from his torment, so we felt confident the intel was solid.
We were moving through the darkened hotel hallways, guns at the ready. The Kid was on point with Vasquez watching his back. Felix and Jackie were in the middle while I was behind the squad.
“This scary-ass motel reminds me of that movie ‘Identity’ with John Cusack. You ever see that shit?”
“Is that the one where Cusack delivers a bag to a creepy motel out in the middle of nowhere?”
“Nah, man. That’s ‘The Bagman’ but it did have a creepy motel.” he said.
“Okay, so is Identity the one where Cusack has to stay in a haunted hotel room?” Jackie asked.
“No goddammit, that’s ‘1408.’ Identity is the one where there’s like a dozen people stranded at this motel in the middle of nowhere and they start getting killed one by one.”
“Okay, first of all: why does John Cusack stay in so many scary motels?”
“Typecasting?”
“And secondly, why are we talking about this while we’re standing in the scariest motel ever?”
“Third question.” I interrupted. “Do you two ever shut up?”
We entered Room 303 and finding it completely thrashed, lingered in the doorway. Mattress slashed, threadbare blankets ripped, and every stick of furniture broken. The stench in the room was overpowering. The source was easy to spot; a cadaver lay rotting amid scattered toys on the floor.
“Rock and roll.” Felix said glibly.
We slowly searched the room.
“Dude check this out!” Felix excitedly waved his latest find: a teddy bear stitched together with human skin, complete with male genitals and real eyeballs too. Just looking at it gave me the creeps.
Giggling, Felix waved the bear inches from the Kid’s face. “Come here and let me give you a big old kiss!”
“Ugh, it’s blinking at me.” Jackie said.
“You’re coming home with me little buddy!” He stuffed the doll into his backpack.
We heard a scraping sound inside a large armoire in the corner with the doors shut. Everyone went silent immediately. Vasquez pointed his gun at it.
“Come on out of there slowly, and you won’t get shot.”
There was no noise or movement of any kind in response. Felix sighed before moving very slowly towards the armoire. He pulled the door open quickly, surprising the woman crouched inside. She was covered head-to-toe with bleeding holes from the cock-roaches.
“Climb out of there slowly, with your hands up.” Vasquez said. The woman seemed to comply with Vasquez’s order, her palms open and weaponless.
The Kid hesitated for just an instant when she sprang at him. The woman grabbed his hand, pointing the gun away from herself and he fired out of reflex, the blast ringing in our ears. He tripped over the corpse on the floor, falling backwards. His head hit the floorboards, dazing him momentarily.
She straddled him, clawing his face and howling like a banshee until Jackie stepped forward and bashed the other woman upside the head with the butt of her rifle. The woman collapsed to the floor, clutching her bleeding skull.
“Oh God, don’t kill me, don’t kill me!” she sobbed as she cowered and covered her head with both arms.
“Quiet!”
The woman shut her mouth instantly, but her body visibly trembled and her eyes welled up. Occasionally, tears ran down her face, leaving twin trails on her filthy cheeks.
“Damn guys, isn’t that a little harsh? I mean, look at her. She’s scared and she’s hurt!” said the New Kid.
“Look Kid, I explained this before but let me make it perfectly clear. She isn’t a person deserving of respect and dignity. She’s a very bad person who did very bad things and ended up in a very bad place.” I said.
“Yeah, but-“
“Everyone, and I mean everyone, in the Down Below deserves to be here. No one wakes up down here for being an atheist, or being gay, or for smoking weed when you were sixteen.” I continued.
“Every single person in the Bad Place committed at least one genuine act of pure, unmitigated evil.” I counted off a list on each finger. “Rape, murder, torture. Shoot, I’ve even been on a job to collect a Wall Street banker who stole people’s retirement accounts then blew it on hookers and cocaine.”
“The point is that they did something that caused pain and suffering to others and whatever they did was enough to earn a ticket Way Down to Hadestown.” I pointed to the woman crouched and shaking on the floor. “That includes Little Miss Sunshine here.”
“You try anything like that again, and I’ll shoot your hands off. You run, I shoot your feet. Am I making myself clear?” Jackie said to our target.
“Yes.”
“Is your name Laura?”
“Yes… how…?”
Felix gripped the woman roughly by her chin and held her face up. Vasquez pulled out the centerfold and looked back and forth from one to the other.
“That’s a positive ID on the primary target.” Vasquez said.
“Great, can we get the Hell out of here now?” said the New Kid.
“Goddammit Fucktard, we told you not to say the H-Word!” Felix yelled angrily. He grabbed the Kid by the straps of his flak jacket and shoved him back against the wall.
The New Kid stammered out an apology, but we all knew the damage had already been done. By all rights, we could have abandoned him right then and there. We could have left him to die, but for the time being, we still needed another pair of hands to finish the job.
“We need to get out. Now. We have definitely overstayed our welcome. Bag her up.” I said.
Felix and Jackie grabbed the target by the arms, holding them together and Vasquez locked handcuffs to her wrists. The Kid shoved a black bag over the target’s head despite her protests.
Prize in hand, we made our way out of the motel room just as fast as we could.
----------
At long last we made it to a stretch of blacktop. Abandoned vehicles filled the road and we cautiously threaded our way around them. Each vehicle was rusted or gutted, and most of them had corpses for passengers. The Damned turned their rotting heads to watch us pass, reaching weakly out to grab us.
Dead weeds stuck up wherever they could find purchase in the cracks. We found that the road had been melted, cooled, and reformed. Several Damned had been submerged in the asphalt, arms outstretched as if surfacing from beneath a pool of black oil. Their cries were muffled but still audible. There were impressions left behind in the asphalt after it had released its prizes to the scavengers who came later.
“Hey, do you hear that?” Jackie asked.
“Hear what?” said the New Kid.
“Sounds like something scraping on metal. Listen. It’s coming from over there.”
Obscured by the tinted windows of a camper shell, something moved in the back of a rusted pickup sitting up on cinder blocks. The New Kid crept slowly up to the back of the truck and dropped the tailgate.
A sleek, obsidian hound with a human head launched itself out of the back of the truck. Its fur was black and glistening, with a body built for speed like a greyhound but with the face of a man. It opened its disjointed jaw and roared like a mountain lion, revealing rows of serrated shark teeth.
Like a heat-seeking missile, it hurtled itself at the Kid with every intention of clamping its jaws around his throat. He brought his arm up to block the hound’s attack and the beast locked its fang-filled maw around his limb.
The creature snarled, shaking the Kid like a rag doll, intent on tearing his arm off in a gout of blood. Claws tore his clothing, and the Kid screamed in pain as triangular teeth began to puncture holes in the flesh of his arm.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a short length of wood. He scrambled for it in the dust with his left hand while the dog savaged his right arm. The New Kid finally managed to wrap his hand around the sturdy board and brought it down on the canine’s square-shaped head in a sweeping arc. There was a loud crack as the board connected, but he could’ve been smacking it with a flyswatter for all the good it did. He struck the sharkdog in its human-shaped face with the board over and over again. The New Kid tried shoving the end into the monster’s mouth to pry it open, but the beast refused to release his bleeding arm.
The moment I saw an opening I shoved my old Ka-Bar knife right into the side of its head. The beast shuddered and died, collapsing in a heap on top of the Kid. He wiped blood and gore off his face and looked up with bleary eyes.
“Told you not to use the H-Word.” I said.
We stopped beside a rusting Quonset hut for a quick break. Jackie dug around in her backpack for a pack of smokes and her lighter. Felix went to take a leak on the other side of the building.
I took a swig from my canteen. The water in the canteen had a sharp taste of iodine from the purification pills I’d dropped in: not unexpected from reclaimed water, but always tough to stomach.
Vasquez sat the package down beside the Quonset and removed her hood long enough for me to give Laura a drink of water. She gulped it down gratefully before we replaced the hood on her head.
I mentally inventoried the remaining water. We all had plastic bottles in our packs plus had the canteen on my hip. I’d read somewhere that the best place to store water was inside ourselves. While I understood that intellectually, I couldn’t help but be daunted at the prospect of making our way across the desert without any water tucked away for later.
Rations were running low too.
We were still many miles away from an exit Topside, and the Bad Place was always full of surprises.
“Hey Garrett. Got a minute?” Vasquez beckoned me over to the side of the building. “You know what I just realized?” he asked.
“That simultaneous revelations aren’t a thing?”
Vasquez leaned in to whisper in my ear. “We are now standing in the Tollway.”
“Route 666?” I asked.
He nodded. “I didn’t recognize it before because there’s no tollbooth and no signs. But one of us is going to pay the toll. You know who I mean.”
I looked over at the New Kid. He was nursing a knot on the back of his head and his face was still all scratched up from Laura’s fingernails. The New Kid removed the sopping bandage wrapped around his arm. The wound where the sharkdog had bit him was black with infected tissue.
Together, we coldly calculated his chances of survival and came up short.
The New Kid was taking a leak on the side of a rusted Quonset hut while Vasquez and I decided his fate.
Rumbling engine noises heralded the arrival of a flat-black sedan on the horizon. A vehicle of generic make and model, the police cruiser had clearly driven through “You-Know-Where” and come out on the other side.
Jackie and Felix grabbed our target and the five of us hustled behind the Quonset, hiding as quick as we could and praying we weren’t seen. The New Kid wasn’t so lucky. The dumb fuck stood there with his dick in his hands and didn’t notice the police cruiser until it was too late.
The battle-scarred vehicle came to a stop, engine idling. The dented drivers’ side door opened and a bipedal male wearing a khaki uniform emerged from the dark interior of the cab. At first glance he may even have passed for human except that every inch of skin was horribly burnt and mutilated. Steel-toed boots crunched on the gravel as he approached.
The Trooper peered at the Kid through his mirrored aviator sunglasses. One hand rested on the nightstick tucked into his belt.
Unsure what to expect, I kept my hand near my pistol just in case.
“You live around here, boy?”
“No sir. Just passing through and found the place like this.”
“I find out you’re lying to me, we’re going to have a problem, boy.”
“Understood.” Every now and then, I caught a glimpse of scarred flesh beneath his shirt.
“Alright then. Just so long as we have an understanding between us.” The Trooper looked around at the horizon almost as if he’d forgotten he was in the middle of a conversation. His gaze settled back on the Kid. “What’s your name, son?”
“My name?”
“Don’t play dumb now.”
Without warning the Trooper pulled a baton from his belt and smashed the Kid with a merciless blow. He doubled over in pain, clutching his belly.
The Trooper loomed over the Kid, lightly smacking the baton in the palm of his palm.
“Looks like you in a heap of trouble here, boy.” the Trooper said with a pronounced Southern accent. He pronounced “here” like “he-ah.”
“You look healthy, don’t have the shakes. No sir, I can tell just from lookin’ at you. You a young man, your back is strong, and you got all your parts in working order, yes sir. You got your whole life in front of you. Seems to me you’ll make a fine slave.”
“You’re gonna dig for us with your bare hands, until your skin is gone, and you dig until your finger bones are worn down to lil’ nubbins. Yessuh, and I’m gonna beat you so bad you’re gonna thank me for the privilege of diggin’.”
The Trooper raised the baton to smash the Kid over the head.
Shots rang out as I unloaded my Glock 9mm into the Trooper’s head, blasting him over and over again. Bullets shattered his aviator shades and tore holes in his khaki uniform before the Trooper fell to the ground. We ran up and Jackie fired her shotgun point-blank into the Trooper’s face before checking on the Kid.
“That seems like overkill, Jackie.” I said with a smirk.
“Overkill is nothing but a word.”
“That stick looks like lacquered hickory but felt like rebar covered in nettles.” The Kid hissed.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here. If one Trooper found us, more are on the way.” I said.
The crew hurried into the Cruiser while the target went into the trunk like a piece of luggage.
“Buckle up.”
“I don’t want to.” the New Kid pouted.
That nasally whine was the last straw. Ice water flowed through my veins. It must have showed on my face because when he saw my expression he recoiled.
“I don’t give a fuck what you want. I ain’t your brother, I ain’t your dad. Lately I ain’t even a nice person. If you don’t do what I say when I say I will knock you the fuck out and make it happen. Now buckle the fuck up.”
He buckled up.
I shifted the police cruiser into drive and stomped on the gas. Nothing happened. “No.” I stomped on it again, shouting louder each time. “No, no, no! I do not believe this horseshit!”
“Is it a Ford?” Felix joked.
Aggravated, my forehead hit the steering wheel. The Troopers were bearing down on us fast. I stomped down on the gas out of frustration and the Cruiser lurched forward. Surprised, I looked up and the vehicle died again, whiplashing our necks. “What the-?”
I closed my eyes, gripped the wheel, and stepped on the gas. The Cruiser moved forward slowly.
“Guys, you’re not going to like this.”
An hour later and my heart was still hammering in my chest and I was white-knuckling the wheel. Vasquez sat right beside me, giving me directions as I drove pedal-to-the-metal with my eyes shut tight.
Bullets pinged off our vehicle and I ducked out of reflex. I could barely hear the gunshots over the roaring engines and police sirens.
“Can’t this piece of shit go any faster?!” Jackie screamed inches from my ear. Jackie turned in her seat, firing a few potshots at the other cruiser.
Felix rooted around in the Army surplus duffel bag and pulled a homemade pipe bomb from the bottom. He lit the fuse with a cheap gas station lighter, let it cook for a moment, then lobbed it out the window at our pursuers.
His throw fell short, and the pipe bomb landed in the middle of the road.
Whether it was Luck or Fate or God deciding to finally give us a break, the second cop car drove over top of the pipe bomb, straddling it with all four tires before it went off.
The police cruiser lifted off the ground, bursting into flame and sending two Troopers screaming into oblivion.
“Keep driving, let’s get as many miles away from here as we can before this thing runs out of gas.” Vasquez instructed.
The sun was setting, and already a cold wind was sweeping down from the hills. Within an hour the temperature would drop by fifty degrees. Sleeping in the exposed cab of the police cruiser would prove to be a very uncomfortable option that night.
And the next night.
And the next.
Four of us left the New Kid hogtied and blubbering in the middle of the road. None of us said a word about it, but we all knew our offering was accepted because we found an exit Topside within an hour.
To this day, I don’t know what dragged him screaming into the desert. But the toll had to be paid.
----------
We delivered the package to a seedy film studio on the outskirts of Las Vegas, Nevada. On the soundstage was a set built out of plywood and made to look like a teen girl’s bedroom: painted pink and full of stuffed dolls. Stage lights hung from metal bars where the room’s ceiling should be, and several cameras were aimed at the bed from different angles.
We were escorted by a couple of hired goons. Low-rent thugs with chrome-played Glocks tucked in the waistband of their jeans.
Vasquez led the way past the stage lights and cameras. Jackie and I flanked the package, while Felix rolled behind with a sawed-off shotgun cradled in his lap.
“You know what the worst job here would be?” Felix asked.
“What?” I sighed.
“Janitor. Can you imagine cleaning this place every night? ‘Excuse me sir, can you lift your feet? I’m trying to mop here’.”
“Jesus, Felix.” I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
“Every night you have to clean it! You can’t imagine the smell!”
“Sure I can.” Jackie retorted. “Like a warm turtle tank probably.”
Felix chortled loudly.
Our customer was a loathsome weasel named Bob Gunkel. He was fat, slowly sliding his way to four hundred pounds. He came out of his office wearing a Hawaiian shirt with huge sweat stains under his pits. He wiped cheese puff dust off his hands, leaving long orange fingerprints on his khakis. The very sight of him made my skin crawl.
“Well? Did you bring her back to me?”
Vasquez pulled the black bag off the package’s head.
“You did it! I have to admit, I had my doubts when I heard you could bring her back but you actually did it!” Gunkel caressed her with his meaty fingers and the expression on his face looked like he was already creaming his pants. She flinched away, but we’d kept the ankle chains and handcuffs on for a reason.
“Laura, sweet Laura, I know I got carried away the last time we were together, but I promise you this time is going to be different!”
Vasquez gripped my arm before I even realized my fist was clenched.
“Sir, not to interrupt, but if you’ll just pay us our fee we’ll be on our way and leave you two alone together.”
“Of course!” He snapped his fingers and one of the goons retrieved a couple of greasy fast food sacks, handing them to Vasquez.
Vasquez checked the paper bags and the wads of cash inside. Jackie and I watched the goon squad to see if their hands moved towards their pistols.
“Are we good?” Gunkel asked.
Everyone held their breath for a moment.
“Yeah, we’re good.” Vasquez said. “Let’s move out, team.”
“You lovebirds have a real nice time now, y’hear!” Felix called on the way out.
Later that night we were sitting in a strip club called Sin Bragas working our way through our second bottle of Don Julio Blanco.
On the asphalt, neon-drenched streets of Topside, we're nothings and nobodies. Between the fast food and taxes, the bad gas station coffee and the past-due child support payments, we’re just pieces of soiled human garbage. In a world of drugs, traffic, radio, politics, smoke and mirrors, we’re little more than dirty, disposable pawns.
Yet amongst the freak show outlaws and leather-clad outcasts, the occult cabals and deranged sickos, the demon summoners, the adrenaline junkies, and conspiracy nuts who make up the heart of the Hades-diving fringe, we’re death-defying, bigger-than-life rock stars.
Every form of fame has its own form of groupies. There are women who sent marriage proposals to Ted Bundy when he was on Death Row, for God’s sake.
Most of us had a scantily-clad woman hanging on an arm or crawling in our lap. Jackie was busy showing off her new tattoo, flexing biceps as big as my head. Her upper arm shined with fresh ink depicting a sexy Devil Girl straddling a black spade with the number “13” in racecar red.
“Well, I gotta go drop the kids off at the pool. Felix said.
Vasquez rolled his eyes and jerked a thumb towards the hallway behind him. Felix rolled his wheelchair to the men’s room. I followed.
When I stepped into the men’s room Felix was pounding on the handicap stall door. “As if my life wasn’t hard enough!” Felix shouted.
I was standing at the urinal when one of the local yokels came in. I recognized him as the hillbilly at the bar telling racist jokes to the stone-faced bartender.
Now, every man knows that there are unspoken rules of men’s room etiquette. When you’re first and there are multiple urinals on the wall, you’re supposed to take the spot furthest from the door. When you come in second, you take the spot furthest from the first guy. What you don’t do, what you never, ever, ever do is stand at the urinal directly adjacent to the first man. That’s a surefire path to an ass-kicking in my book. Of course, this mullet-wearing motherfucker decided to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me.
“You guys are Hellcrashers, aren’t you?” he asked.
I didn’t respond.
“Dude, you guys just go down to Hell, kick Satan in the balls, and rescue the souls of big-tittied single moms. Man, that’s fucking awesome. “What’s it like being a Hellcrasher, bro?”
“Ever hear the one about the guy who wouldn’t shut the fuck up with his dick in his hand?” I curtly replied without looking at him.
“Um, no?”
I reached up and grabbed the hair on the back of his head then slammed him face-first into the tile. His nose broke and he crumpled like a wet paper sack, hitting his chin on the urinal on the way down to the floor. I hosed him down with the contents of my bladder for good measure.
“That’s what it’s like.”
I was washing my hands when I heard Felix shouting.
“Hey! Can somebody toss me some toilet paper? I’m all out of shit tickets over here!”
I left the club without a word.
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somekindoftuber · 5 years
Text
vld youtuber AU (klance, part 7)
hey so who’s up for some a n g s t
(content warning for this chapter: vomit)
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six
.
“Favorite color?”
“Red.”
“Cool, mine’s blue. Um, favorite subject in school?”
“....Math?”
“Ew.”
“Lance,” Keith laughs over the mic. “You said no judgment. I was good at math.”
Leaning back, Lance pops his back. “Yeah, okay, fine. Mine was history.”
“Ew.”
They’d been sitting in the Overwatch menu screen for at least a half-hour, Keith indulging Lance in a question swap. “You know,” Keith says after taking a drink of his soda. “When I said we should get to know each other, I sort of expected something more.... Organic than 20 questions.”
“What, my methods aren’t free-range enough for you?” Lance joked, and Keith laughed loud at that one. “Well, you should know, Keith, that I have this tendency to focus on things that I want, and I don’t give up easily.”
Keith went silent for a second. “Things you want, huh?” His voice was low.
Lance felt the heat rush to his face. “U-um.”
“Sorry,” Keith said. “Too much?”
Lance chewed his lip. “Is it too much for you?”
Keith’s tongue clicked through the headphones over Lance’s ears, and when he spoke, his voice was almost sultry. “Nah. Besides, I can be pretty driven when I want something, too.”
Dear lord, this man was going to be the death of him. Now that they’d gotten their feelings out in the open, Lance was discovering a side of Keith he never knew existed - a bold, fearless, self-assured side. And holy shit, was it hot, if a little terrifying. Whatever reservations Keith had about flirting before now were long gone, and it would still throw lance for a serious loop to hear Keith directing low key innuendo at him.
“Here’s one for you,” Keith said. “When did you first play guitar?”
“Oh!” Lance grinned. “I was nine. I had already been playing the piano for two years, but it sort of bored me. I couldn’t get it to make the kind of sound I wanted, if that makes sense? Then my dad got his old acoustic guitar out of storage and got it repaired and restrung. When he played it, I knew it was the sound I’d been trying to find.” His eyes went misty as he remembered the first time he plucked one of the steel strings. “It sounded like heaven.”
“Wow,” Keith said after a minute.
“Your turn. How’d you know you wanted to be a pilot?”
Keith hummed. “I was always sort of an adrenaline junkie as a kid. Raced go-karts, ran track, got in trouble, did some free running. I… spent a lot of time in and out of foster care, which was a pretty numbing experience, so I think maybe I was looking for something to make me feel alive.”
Lance had no idea what to say to that, so he kept quiet.
“I went on a field trip to an air force museum with my school when I was thirteen,” Keith continued. “There was a reconstructed Grumman F-14 Tomcat on display, and when I looked at it, I just thought, I need to be in one of those.” He let out a little laugh. “That’s also where I met Shiro. Or, well, he met me. When I stole his car.”
Lance choked, beating his fist on his chest to get air back into his lungs. “Excuse me?”
Then Keith laughed long and loud. “Told you. Adrenaline junkie. I was a brat with something to prove.”
Lance stared at his computer screen. This was intense, and he had a feeling that he was only scratching the surface of who Keith really was.
-----
October began, and Lance was officially panicking. Because Keith’s birthday was at the end of this month and he really wanted to do something special for it. Now that they were hovering in some bizarre “not boyfriends yet” zone, Lance figured it wouldn’t be too much to maybe go a little further than he would for a friend.
He got out his guitar, a notebook, blank music sheets, and a pencil.
——-
Lance’s channel was gaining followers rapidly. He was no stranger to having an online following, but he had to change his notification settings on twitter to keep his phone from blowing up constantly. He pondered making a separate, locked account for himself, something his friends could follow where he could drop the YouTube persona.
He was sort of envious of Keith’s anonymity online.
And speaking of Keith, there was also the issue of a potential move to Springdale. Lance had looked up schools in the area, and the local community college had a music education program that he could afford. He’d closed his browser and walked away from his laptop after he had that confirmation and spent the next fifteen minutes pacing around the living room, running his hands through his hair until it was sticking up all over the place. It hadn’t felt real until that moment; before that, the idea of going back to school and pursuing an actual career had been just that -- and idea. But now? Now he couldn’t really make excuses anymore. It was all very much within his reach. He just had to muster up the courage to go for it.
Easier said than done.
Lance ended up stress eating half a carton of butter pecan ice cream by the time Pidge came home from class.
Lance posted more Overwatch videos in the meantime, held some more streams. His content was slowing down because he’d taken an extra shift every week at the cafe to save up money. He had no idea what his living situation was going to be come January, but it was safer to assume he’d be on his own and have the money to support himself.
He talked to Keith almost every day. They’d started using facetime, and that did a number on poor Lance’s heart, to get to see Keith’s face while talking to him. Keith was still unfarily, stupidly, irrevocably attractive, even when he was flushed and sweaty from working out or covered in grime from the garage. One time Keith had called when Lance was wearing a face mask, and Lance would have been embarrassed, if it wasn’t for the absolutely hilarious confusion that crossed Keith’s face at the sight.
“I’m kind of big on skin care, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Uh.” Keith’s thick eyebrows pinched together. “I hadn’t?”
Lance smiled as much as he could with the mask drying on his face. “Well, get used to it. It’s a packaged deal with me.”
Keith gave him a little grin then, and Lance nearly swooned.
.
Another night, as they were messing around in Overwatch, the topic of tattoos came up. “Do you have more than one? Tattoo, I mean,” Lance asked while they scrolled through servers.
“Just the one,” Keith answered. “I kinda want more, but I’m not sure what I’d get. You?”
“None.” Lance hummed. “How big is that lion, anyway? I could only see the top bit at the beach.”
“Not that big,” Keith answered. Then there was some shuffling from his end of the voice chat, and he went quiet for a second. Lance thought he heard a click.
“You okay over there?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just - gimme a sec - there.”
Lance’s phone buzzed at his side. He picked it up, the motion completely automatic, to see a new text. He used his thumb print to open it, and the entire universe ground to a screeching halt.
Because on the screen was Keith’s lion tattoo, in its entirety, the dark red ink carved neatly into Keith’s exposed hip. At the bottom of the frame, a thumb was hooked into the hem of a pair of sweatpants, pulling them down and away, and at the top, a dark gray shirt was rucked up to reveal a toned stomach. Lance’s heart might have stopped. There was so much skin, all smooth and milky, stretched over a sharp hipbone, the sweatpants pulled down just enough to reveal the tiny beginnings of dark hair below. Lance’s mouth watered.
“You still there?” Keith was asking, a smile in his voice, but Lance.exe had stopped working.
“Jesus Christo,” Lance breathed. “You -- you gotta warn me before you do that.”
He heard Keith huff a little laugh. “Sorry.”
Lance had the distinct impression that Keith wasn’t sorry at all.
-----
Lance might have pulled a few all-nighters in the course of the month. But he was running out of time, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until it was perfect. This was for Keith, for his birthday, and Lance absolutely did not half ass things like that.
Pidge just rolled her eyes at him and went back to her thesis, heedless of Lance’s internal crisis as she tapped away at her laptop.
He was finally, finally ready to record on the 18th. It took at least four tries to get one good take, and then he had to record backup vocals, additional guitar, piano. It took three days to get the song right, and he didn’t even have a video. A blank screen would have to do.
He set the video to post at 8:00am the next morning, October 23. He really, really hoped Keith would see it, and Lance listened to the song one last time before he went to bed.
I was wondering through, I’d never heard your voice You were just an idea on a screen I was belly up, dried up, a fish out of water Pretending that I could breathe air
But then I met you, and my world burst into color Where was I going before you came my way I don’t know, I don’t care, and I don’t think it matters I’m just so glad that I met you
I had no direction, you handed me a map And it’s pointing me your way I hope that’s alright, ‘cause I sort of can’t help it, You’re drawing me to you, and I don’t want to stop
Because my world is all color now that you’re in it So bright and beautiful, just like your smile And no matter what happens, I want you to know Darling I am so glad that I met you.
In the description, Lance wrote “happy birthday” with a heart emoji, then clicked “schedule video” and let the fates have it. He went to bed with a nervous jitter in his veins.
The next morning, Lance was still anxious as hell, so he went for a long run through the brisk autumn air. After five miles he came home and made some coffee, as it was brewing, his phone rang.
Keith’s number was on the screen.
Lance cleared his throat and picked up. “Hey Keith!” he started, happy that the words only shook a little bit. “What’s up?”
“Hey,” Keith answered. His voice sounded strange. “I, um. I saw the video you posted.”
Lance felt his whole body flash hot as he bit his lip. “Happy Birthday, Keith.”
There was shuffling on the other end of the line. “That was for me?”
“Yeah.”
Keith was quiet for a long time. Then a sudden wet sniffle came through, and Lance felt himself panic. “Keith?”
“Sorry,” Keith’s voice cracked. “Sorry, I just--” he broke off with another sniffle, louder this time. “I’m not used to that. To people doing nice things for me.”
Oh god. Lance had made him cry. And the sound was so sad that Lance felt his own eyes sting.  “You okay?”
Keith laughed, the sound wet and strained. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just. Wow, Lance.”
“Get used to it,” Lance said softly. “I’m definitely the type for grand gestures.”
Another small laugh, then some more sniffling. “What did I do,” Keith whispered, “to deserve someone like you?”
Lance leaned against the counter top behind him, his heart hammering in his chest. “I ask myself that all the time.”
“Oh my god, stop,” Keith groaned, but Lance could hear a smile in his voice. “I have to go to work in an hour. How am I supposed to concentrate now?”
“You’re working on your birthday?”
Lance heard a grunt and the scrape of a chair. “I always do. My birthday’s never been a big deal to me. I think Shiro wants to barbeque tonight, though.”
The coffee maker beeped, and Lance poured himself a cup. “Would it be alright if I made it a big deal?”
Keith hummed. “If that’s what a big deal is to you, then I guess I’ll just have to get used to it, won’t I?”
“Yeah, I guess you will.”
-----
Pidge forwarded an email to Lance the next week. A science conference was being held in Charlotte at the end of the month, and she was going.
“I’ll probably be gone the whole weekend. I’m driving with some classmates, so you can have the apartment to yourself.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Or maybe have someone over.”
“Pidge,” Lance chided, rolling his eyes as she laughed into her coffee.
She was right, though. Lance could have someone over. Of course, there was only one ‘someone’ in mind - but would that be too fast? To ask Keith to come stay the weekend here? Alone with Lance?
His face went hot at the thought. A whole weekend alone with Keith.
They’d only been apart from each other for a little over a month, and facetime was nice and all, but Lance missed him. In person, Keith exuded this… energy that didn’t come through a phone line or internet connection. It was sort of intoxicating, making Lance want to get closer and closer. But would that be too much?
Lance mentally beat himself up for an hour before messaging Keith on discord about it.
LanceyLance Hey so Pidge is going out of town for a conference thing just after Thanksgiving. Would you want to come down here to chill? We can livestream or smth
Keith uh yeah I think that would be okay. what days
LanceyLance nov 28-30
Keith okay cool let me check some things and I’ll get back to you
Lance wondered if “almost throwing up from sheer nerves because I might get to spend a weekend alone with a hot boy” was a good reason to call into work. He went in for his shift anyway and was only slightly distracted. On his break, Lance checked his phone and found a new message from Keith on Discord.
Keith so that weekend looks okay, I put in for time off
LanceyLance cool!
Lance ruined the next three drinks, his heart in his throat.
Later that night, he got on a voice chat with Keith, his heart pounding despite him telling it over and over to calm the hell down.
“I was thinking we could do a livestream, maybe some Overwatch?” Lance said as he picked at a cuticle. “You could be my special guest.”
Keith did that little airy chuckle that made Lance shiver. “As long as you don’t ask me to sing.”
“No promises.” Biting his lip, Lance took a breath. He might as well ask. “You sure you’re okay with this? It’s not, like, moving too fast?”
Keith hummed. “No? I mean, I figured we were just gonna hang out… Why?” his voice dropped. “Did you have other plans?”
“No,” Lance squawked, cursing how his voice cracked. “No, I mean, you said you wanted to go slow, so I was just thinking we could just play some games, maybe watch a movie or go to the marina. That’s okay, right…?”
“Yeah,” Keith breathed, and Lance could hear the smile. “Yeah, that’s cool.”
A hot wash of embarrassment hit Lance, and he covered his face and groaned. Keith laughed a little. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Lance’s voice was muffled by his hands. “Yeah. I just -- jeeze. I must sound desperate or something.”
“It’s not just you,” Keith said softly. “I mean, same, I guess? I know I said I wanted to take this slow, but honestly, it’s turning out to be harder than I expected.”
The admission was unexpected and sent Lance’s blood pressure through the roof. He could already tell it was going to be a struggle to keep his hands to himself.
-----
One week until Keith’s visit. Pidge was packing her bag early and giving Lance absolute hell about it.
“Use protection,” she said, stuffing a shirt into a suitcase. Lance sputtered.
“Oh knock it off!” He shrieked. “He’s coming to hang out. That’s it!”
Pidge shot him a skeptical look as she folded a pair of jeans over her arm. “Sure, sure. Just do me a favor and disinfect any surfaces you decided to ‘hang out’ on.”
Lance threw up his arms in defeat, then went to his computer. He and Keith had already planned out their livestream, and decided it was close enough to make an announcement.
Lance! @lanceylance Hey everyone! Next Friday (11/28) I’ll be holding a livestream with special guest @k_redlion! Stream begins at 4pm eastern. Be there!!
.
Pidge left early Friday morning, and in the four hours until Keith was supposed to arrive, Lance did one of the most thorough cleanings of the apartment he’d ever done. He dusted, vacuumed, scrubbed and mopped, did laundry and the dishes, changed the sheets on his bed, washed the spare set of sheets for the pull out sofa.
Satisfied, he jumped in the shower and gave himself and equally thorough scrub down. He was all nerves as he dried off and dressed. He was admiring his handiwork in the living room when his phone buzzed.
Keith made it into town, be there in 10
Lance bounced on his heels and went outside to wait. After a few minutes, a dark blue sedan with Virginia plates pulled up and into a parking spot. The engine shut off, and the door opened to reveal Keith, in his leather jacket with his hair pulled up high.
“Nice car,” was the first thing that came out of Lance’s mouth. He internally groaned.
“Rental,” Keith said, closing the driver’s door and going for the back seat. “I love my bike, but five hours on it is a bit much, especially when it’s cold.”
Lance took Keith’s duffel bag for him and led him up to the apartment. He’d set up their streaming area in the living room where they’d be closest to the router.
“The stream isn’t for another three hours,” Lance said, setting Keith’s bag on the chair. “Wanna relax until then?”
Keith slipped out of his jacket, revealing a dark gray sweater that stretched nicely across his chest. “Sounds good. That drive is a little tiring.”
Once Lance had gotten them both glasses of water from the kitchen, they decided on YouTube fail videos, sitting next to each other on the couch, close, but not too close. Keith’s laugh was such a nice sound, and Lance couldn’t help but lean a little in his direction. After an hour’s worth of cats and people slipping and falling, Keith grunted, grimacing.
“You okay?” Lance asked.
Keith gave him a smile. “Yeah, my stomach’s kind of upset. That gas station poptart might not have been a good idea.”
Standing, Lance moved towards the kitchen. “I’ve got some pickled ginger in the fridge, would that help?”
Keith followed him. “Yeah, probably.”
As soon as Lance opened his fridge, horror dawned upon him. “I didn’t get us any stream snacks!”
“It’s not a big deal?” Keith said slowly. Lance handed him the jar of sushi ginger and shook his head.
“It totally is! We need proper junk food for streaming.” He pursed his lips and tapped his chin. “Are you okay if I hit the store? It won’t take long.”
Keith shrugged with the jar in his hand. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll just hang out and rest.”
He showed Keith where the forks were, taking a little delight in seeing how Keith ate the ginger straight out of the jar just like he did, then grabbed his shopping bags. “I’ve got my phone, text me if you want anything!”
The drive to the store was short, and Lance sped through the aisles with a basket on his arm. Gourmet sodas, the nice veggie chips, lemon cream cookies, a package of fresh strawberries. He’d take Keith out for dinner, maybe Vinnie’s again. This weekend was going to be awesome.
On the way home, however, Lance got stuck in stand-still traffic - he could see just far enough ahead to tell there had been an accident. And there was nowhere for him to turn off to for another few hundred feet, so he was stuck. Frowning, he pulled out his phone and shot a text to Keith.
stuck in traffic, might be a little late
He put Pandora on his phone and turned up the volume, shifting his car into park.
By the time Lance made it back to the apartment, he’d been gone for more than an hour and a half. The living room was empty, but Lance went straight for the kitchen. The stream was set to start in 45 minutes, so they needed to start setting up. “Keith?” Lance called as he stashed the groceries in the fridge. “You good, man? We should get started soon.”
There was no answer.
“Keith?” Lance poked his head out of the kitchen. “You here?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket to see if he’d missed a text as he went towards the back of the apartment. Rounding a corner, Lance stopped. His phone clattered to the floor.
Just outside the bathroom, face down in the hallway, was Keith.
Lance slid on his knees towards him. “Keith!” Reaching for him, he turned Keith over, and gasped. His face was bright red, his eyes screwed shut. He was sweating profusely and burning up with a fever. “Keith!” Lance called again. “Hey, man, answer me!”
Keith’s eyes flickered. “L-lance?” he grunted, his voice weak. “It hurts, oh god Lance, it hurts so bad--”
Adrenaline was dumping into Lance’s bloodstream as he went into full panic mode. “What hurts? What’s wrong? Keith!” But Keith stopped responding, his breathing sounding wheezy and shallow.
“Shit,” Lance muttered, clutching Keith close to his chest. “Shit shit shit!”
His phone was five feet away. He should call 911. But who knows how long an ambulance would take and the hospital was five minutes away, he could get there faster on his own--
Lance had grabbed his phone and hoisted Keith into his arms before he realized it. And shit, Keith was heavy, making Lance stumble and lean against a wall more than once as he made it out of his apartment and to his car, where he dropped  Keith on the back seat.
He’d never driven so aggressively in his life.
Lance screeched to a halt outside the ER doors, and barely managed to put his car in park. He opened the back door and pulled Keith out, hooking one of Keiths’ arms around his neck and half-carrying him inside.
“Hey,” he called out. “Hey, I need some help here--”
At his side, Keith made a choking sound, then curled in on himself and vomited.
The whole world became too fast and too slow. Several nurses ran up to them, pulling Keith away. A clattering gurney was brought out. As Keith’s limp body was hoisted on to it, Lance barely registered someone talking to him, asking him what happened.
“I don’t know,” Lance’s throat was closing. “I don’t know, he was fine two hours ago--”
More questions, but Lance couldn’t hear them. All he could focus on was Keith, unconscious on a hospital stretcher, disappearing down a hallway as nurses ran beside him.
.
TO BE CONTINUED!!
(don’t worry guys, Keith is gonna be fine!! But Lance doesn’t know that OvO)
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miruka-cioccolata · 5 years
Note
Hello! I love your writing and hope you had an awesome weekend! Could you write some La Squadra date HCS? :D
(ahh, thank you a lot!
La Squadra Date HCs
RisottoNero:
It’s difficult to plan a date with Risotto since being the head of anexecution squad doesn’t really allow much freedom in that regard.Wherever he goes he draws attention onto him, may it be for hisimposing height or for his intimidating appearance – it’s certainlytoo much attention for an assassin.
That’s why he prefers staying at home or at his S/O’s place on adate. Spending a quiet evening together, snuggled up close with somemovies and snacks seems to be a nice way for Risotto to blow off somesteam from his busy work schedule. Risotto isn’t exactly achatter box so a date with him could lead to a rather one-sidedconversation, but what he doesn’t tell in words, he makes up withactions: Slow rubs on their hand or back and the one or other chastekiss assure his lover that he is listening to everything and that hebasks in their company.
Prosciutto:
A real gentleman during a date and always dressed to impress. He isthe type to take out his lover to a romantic candle light dinner in aglamorous restaurant. Only the best champagne and the most classylocation will suffice for him and his significant other.
Prosciutto isn’t opposed to accompanying his S/O to the mall either,in fact he takes pleasure in going shopping with them and helping outwith advice when picking the right accessory. When they pose in frontof him, turning around themself and asking if this or that looks goodon them, Prosciutto won’t just mumble a half-assed response, but willgive his honest (and also highly critical) opinion.
Pesci:
His S/O could talk Pesci pretty much into anything for a date, he issimply happy when they make time for him at all. He is quite drawn tonature, so a picnic by the river or maybe even a fishing trip wouldbe an ideal date in his books. Understandably, fishing isn’t anactivity for everyone and he’s the last person wanting to make his S/Ouncomfortable, so just strolling around the park or the city withsome fast food or ice cream on the go is a great option for him aswell.Dates always make him a little nervous, he is just so afraidof screwing up: What if his lover gets bored? What if he accidentallyoversteps a boundary or says something stupid?
The worries he harbors would sooner of later vanish once he loosensup a little and forgets his  anxieties, then Pesci becomes quitetalkative and energetic.
Formaggio:
Formaggio loves places where he can relax and shrug off the stresshis profession puts onto him on a regular basis. He would love totake his S/O to his favorite little bar, downing a beer or two withsome food and chatting with them animatedly. Often his conversationsare laced with heavy flirting and the one or other touch that goesjust beyond tame hand holding. Seeing his lover wearing one of hisown jackets is very alluring to him, especially if they are way toobig for them. It just looks so cute on them!
He isn’t opposed to lounging lazily with his S/O at home either,maybe even cooking a meal together. Formaggio is a firm believer thatfood tastes miles better when he and his lover work as a team in thekitchen.
Illuso:
Illuso would probably take his S/O to the movies. He deliberatelychooses a horror flick, not only because he likes the thrill of thesuspense, but also because he can be near them when they get scaredand drape an arm around his lover for comfort.
Illuso enjoys culture in general, so taking a trip to a museum or anart gallery wouldn’t be unusual for him to suggest either. He thinksthere is something pleasant – even intimate - about looking at artpieces together and he will ask his S/O for their interpretation ifhe catches them standing around a painting for a while. He pays muchinterest to them voicing their thoughts and loves deep, interestingdiscussions with them.Also he makes it a priority to buy them something after a date as alittle souvenir, so they can remember the good time they sharedtogether.
Melone:
To be honest, Melone is content with anything his S/O suggests aslong as he can spend time together with them. If they ask him for hispreference, he’ll tell them the name of a small café or a gelateria,anything cozy is okay with him.
Small talk is fine and all, but having deep conversations that gojust beyond the usual superficial chatter is what he truly enjoys.Melone is well-read, so his S/O won’t have any troubles finding agood enough subject to talk about with him, it can range fromliterature to philosophy to pop culture to mundane issues and even tocelebrity gossip; there’s hardly a topic he knows absolutely nothingabout. Similar to Prosciutto, Melone is also eager to accompanyhis lover on a shopping trip since he is fond of fashion. He’llgladly offer advice when his significant other asks him for hisopinion (although he will teasingly state that they’d look much better without clothes anyway).
Ghiaccio:
The ice rink is Ghiaccio’s favorite place to take his S/O to on adate. Unsurprisingly, he’s an ice skating pro, making all the otherpeople on the ice stop and stare in awe at his graceful twirls andexpert jumps.  Never would his S/O catch Ghiaccio admitting it, buthe secretly tries to impress his lover with his skating skills.Should his significant other be a much less stellar skater than him,he’ll try to teach them, gathering up all the little patience that hehas and even giving the one or other encouraging comment. Arcadesare great too! Ghiaccio is very competitive with videogames and hewill by no means take a defeat lightly. During a match he is sofocused on the flickering screen as the moving pixels reflect on hisglasses and he snarls and curses whenever his S/O manages to outdohim. He’ll treat them to lunch if they win a game against him.
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flyswhumpcenter · 4 years
Text
Nurse Café - Chapter 5/6: “Recovery is Nothing but a Filler Arc”
PREVIOUS CHAPTER / NEXT CHAPTER
Fic Summary: Life could have honesty been simpler than that for Hokuto, a second-year Liteature major. There’s, however, someone out there willing to just make it easier on him.
Fandom: Ensemble Stars! (College/Coffeeshop AU) Ships: HokuAn (Anzu/Hokuto)
AO3 version available here.
--------
Chapter Summary: Hokuto finds the process of recovery boring. This is a snippet into this very boredom.
Chapter Wordcount: 1.7K words.
Chapter Notes: Lmao @ my shitty updating schedule (which isn't a thing to begin with). It's technically filler content, but I felt bad about not having at least some snippets into a recovery process and, of course, more pining because who doesn't like pining. I like writing with a lot of sarcasm and this fic is the perfect occasion for it lol. My goal is to actually finish Nurse Café before 2020 rolls around, so we shall see if the last chapter comes out before the new year arrives! (I doubt it, but you know, a week can be enough for this).
------------
Recovery was a boring process. A necessary, absurdly boring process.
He supposed it depended on what you needed to recover from. If you only had to recover from a cold, it could be a good occasion to feel cosy: buried under the covers, a cup of hot chocolate in hand, watching some TV programs while a humidifier tried to keep your nose from clogging up… Alas, he wasn’t recovering from a cold at all and must have been in the most boring kind of recovery: the one where he wasn’t well enough to do anything interesting, but not dying enough not to be aware of how much he was wasting his time as he flopped in bed like a fish out of the water.
 At least, and yet a little to his dismay, his grandmother had insisted to watch over him when his friends couldn’t. Sure, she was out of her cast and had recovered her full mobility, but she shouldn’t have been there. He was supposed to do this thing on his own, not get babied all over again. It tasted like failure and disappointment in himself, as if the entire situation wasn’t worth being untrusting of his capabilities.
However, a major part of him was grateful for her to be such a watchful caretaker. It was his fault if he had landed there, he admitted to that fact without hesitation (albeit not without swallowing his pride in for good measure), so he could have been expected to fix his own mistake by himself like a good boy; and yet Grandma was here, tending to him each time he’d open his eyes during the day. He’d have to find a way to thank her later down the line…
 Truth be told, he was relieved that people were checking up on him. In that state of his, his body barely agreed to move out of the bed, and if it accepted, then it’d only be for short spurts of time. The festering headache raging in his skull really didn’t help in the slightest, instead profiting from his incredible vulnerability to do its thing. The more time went and the less he felt that way, usually trapped in a deep daze for most of the time, overthinking things when he was conscious enough to do that. A… fascinating time to be had in perspective, huh.
If it wasn’t Grandma, it was his friends from university. More exactly, two friends: Isara and Anzu. He had specifically for them not to tell anyone else, as he wanted to preserve a little bit of his credibility within the academic premise. It was mostly about food, medicine and cleaning stuff here and there. Before his glassy eyes, the papers on his floor finally disappeared, piling neatly on the desk as he heard conversations without participating. They made recovery less of a chore to go through.
 The only times where he didn’t feel like he was throwing his precious time of the window was when people came in and kept him intellectually awake. Day after day, for an entire week, his favourite moments were still those where Anzu was there, sitting on a chair next to him or simply minding her own business somewhere else in his flat. If his brain wasn’t too confused, she’d stay here more than Grandma and Isara, especially the second as he was permanently busy (he could swear he had heard Anzu making sure he too wasn’t overworked beyond his own mind. Isara only chuckled awkwardly at that).
He’d usually see her do things around, mostly her homework, sometimes something else. After spending almost an entire day sleeping and dazing when he wasn’t unconscious, he could finally truly watch her do things and hum some of her favourite pop songs. She was the most pleasant thing about his recovery, as he could spend some time with her without any major disturbance. He’d never admit it openly, though, because then he’d never see it get lived down.
It felt warmer whenever she was in the room too… Must have been his temperature and the awful sentiment it brought upon him.
 The first time he tried to rise out of bed, it was to help Anzu with putting away some groceries and pay her back for these, and she immediately dropped her bottle of dish soap to pin his shoulders back onto the mattress. Would have it not been such a situation, having her on top of him like that would have surely sent him into a daze; instead, Hokuto was glad to blame the sudden burn in his cheeks on what was left of his fever and shook the other ideas away. God, she did look like she was blushing as she realized how cliché their position had been, but it must have been out of embarrassment… Nothing more than that.
He did retry later in the day, after the nth nap he had taken in the last two days (at least, he thought it had been two days? He didn’t exactly have any screen to check the date on to set straight his scrambled perception of time). Once again, Anzu jumped on him, urging him not to overdo it, albeit they had come to a silent compromise: he could sit up now. It was unbelievable than even such a simple gesture still made his head spin like that. At least, it was stabilizing, so he figured his gyroscope had somewhat fixed itself. How fragile had he made himself, exactly?
 With some more patience, brought upon him by the screams of the body he couldn’t ignore much anymore and everyone’s smiles and words, he had finally reached a point where he could at least wash himself in peace and not risk opening his frontal lobe on the slippery tiles of the shower. If Grandma and Anzu still insisted to make him his food, he started biting back, albeit as hard as a new-born puppy, much to his chagrin and somewhat to Isara’s amusement.
 “I’ve never asked you about that, but I’m curious,” the latter asked him when the three of them were around his table with some fried noodles for dinner. “How in the hell did you put yourself in that situation, Hokuto? It really doesn’t resemble you to be this… careless?”
“Haven’t you asked me that before?”
“Mao has, but you may have… replied with nothing but nonsense, when he did…” Anzu chimed in, scratching her chin with an awkward smile.
He felt his embarrassment rise up in his throat again, but instead decided to clear his throat and brush it aside as much as possible.
“Things piled up, I suppose. I was making a presentation with a tight deadline and taking care of my grandmother who had broken her foot. It got out of control much more than I had anticipated.”
“Why didn’t you ask us to help then?” Isara seemed genuinely confused, or at least curious.
“Both Anzu and you were already busy, and I sincerely doubt Akehoshi would have made anything better for my grandma. Yuuki seemed busy enough as it was too, now that I think about it.”
Truth be told, Hokuto had no real answer to give and it must have felt by his two friends, considering the looks of disbelief they gave each other before realizing they’d both be late to class if they didn’t eat any faster.
 By the end of the week, life was finally back to what it should have been. It still hadn’t prevented Hokuto from disobeying doctor’s orders (he didn’t remember getting examined at any point, but if Anzu was telling him so, then it must have happened at some point…) and grabbing his laptop to write some mails here and there. Braving the headache the brightness of the screen was providing him with, he attempted explaining himself to his prof for his sudden disappearance with his presentation in hand.
Apparently, he had written nothing but gibberish, and that was more than enough to convey to the prof how unwell he had been. He guessed it was convenient, in a way…
 He made sure to thank everyone as much as possible. Unexpectedly, Grandma told him it was her mission as a grandparent to take care of him, especially after he had done so for her; and he felt too humbled to respond anything against that. Isara more or less told him the same, saying it was normal for friends to help each other and that they needed to do so anyway, that he didn’t mind. The amused smirk on this man’s lips as he said that more or less indicated that he had gotten some amusement out of the situation. As soon as he got noticed, though, Isara told him he had been worried and that it was good to see a buddy go back to normalcy. They agreed on that statement.
Still, how could he thank Anzu for all of her services? She had done a ton for him and he had no real way to get back to her on that. She had spent a lot of her precious time trying to fix his mistakes and didn’t spare her words when it came to convincing him that resting was what he truly needed and that it was okay for him not to force himself out of bed this quickly. It really didn’t help that his feelings were having a rave party in the back of his mind…
 “You don’t have to thank me or pay me back,” Anzu responded. “At least, don’t feel forced to do so. I was just happy to take care of a friend!”
The pink on her cheeks was back. Did he happen to still have some fever lingering and playing with his senses?
“I’m just glad you’re alright now. You really scared me when you collapsed like that, you know?”
“I’m pretty sure I do.”
“You better do! I don’t want to see that happen to you again, so I hope you’ve learnt the lesson… You’ll be fine from now on, right?”
“I should be. Thank you very much again, Anzu.”
“And you’re still welcome, it’s the third time you thank me in five minutes! Take care, okay? I’d hate to see you this sick again. See you soon!”
“See you soon.”
On that she left, her smile and her perfume leaving the premise of his previously fatigue-riddled flat. It made up for ideal circumstances to realize something: Hokuto was afraid he’d have to soon deal with a whole other kind of sickness.
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A Real Wolf Show-Pony
Explicit | 2,914 words | camboy!derek | archive of our own
Derek Hale had always been something akin to an enigma. There were a lot of things that remained secret about him, his life, his interests, his emotions. Sure, the pack knew certain things....Derek was a werewolf, an alpha, a total cauldron of broody brew. But that was just about it.
For Stiles, there had always been a couple questions about Derek that just always seemed to be off-limits — 1. what was Derek’s sexual orientation and 2. how in hell did Derek afford one of the nicest penthouse lofts in the city, despite seemingly having no legitimate occupation? They were good questions, but remained locked away and unanswered in the back of Stiles’ mind...
Until the universe decided to work some of its magic.
Stiles was in his bedroom, cooped up at his desk, boxers around his ankles — cruising the internet for something to entice him enough to masturbate. Now, he had only ventured onto one of those shoddy cam-guy websites a few times, but a craving came around, so Stiles decided that he’d give it a go. There really wasn’t anything to lose and if he ended up finding it intolerable, there was always dozens and dozens other free-porn sites.
As he was scrolling through the “LIVE” cam-guys, Stiles casually scrolled through the available thumbnails, waiting for something to catch his eyes. At first, nothing was doing the job. Everything looked boring...but then Stiles saw one thumbnail with Derek. Fucking. Hale—lounging around on a chair, shirtless, and stroking his cock.
Suddenly, the stupid cam-guy website got a whole hell of a lot more interesting.
Stiles clicked his way into the chat that coincided with the cam-guy’s thumbnail, surprised to find that it wasn’t some sort of virus bait. It was real. He was watching Derek—in real time—stroking his cock for a chatroom of about five-hundred other individuals. And Stiles throbbed at the visual—a full on spurt of airborne precum shot out and splattered against the screen of his laptop.  
This...was way too good to enjoy by his lonesome. Stiles wanted to get somebody else in the action. It was the perfect opportunity to get down into some kind of fun. Derek was one of the hottest dudes in Beacon Hills. Nobody could disagree. Everybody probably wanted to fuck him. If the situation presented itself, Stiles wouldn’t turn it down...and neither would any of the other pack-members.
Stiles stood up from his desk chair and grabbed his laptop, kicking off the pair of boxers that had been at his ankles, and then eagerly rushed out of his bedroom to the living room so that he could get his housemate into the action. Derek jerking himself off for an audience on the internet was way too good to just let slip away with having some fun first.  
“Scotty, you have to fucking see this!” Stiles shouted, crashing down onto the couch right beside where Scott was sitting.
“Well, I can’t see anything because you jizzed up the screen.” Scott commented, gesturing to the spurt of precum that had blurred the live-stream of the cam-guy performer.
“Oh—” Stiles deflated, swiping the pre-cum away from his laptop screen with his thumb, before quickly popping his thumb into his mouth. “Okay, now look. Are you seeing this too? Or am I fucking tripping out?”
“Holy shit, dude!” Scott laughed. “Is this real — like, Derek’s actually doing this right now?”
Stiles laughed. “Yeah, he’s a cam-dude. And look, he’s got five-hundred perverts clocked in to watch him bust a nut.”
“And we’re two of the perverts!” Scott clapped his hands together and then shucked down his pants, tugging out his cock.
“Oh, fuck yeah.” Stiles cheered giddily.
The two housemates settled themselves in the couch, stuffing the laptop into the allotted space between the both of them so that they both could see what Derek was doing and what the chatroom was saying. Neither of them wasted much time at getting their own hands at their dicks, either. The visual and the overall reality of the situation was too damn hot.
Derek remained in the same position that Stiles had found him in — sitting in a desk chair, jerking his dick. He occasionally laughed and quickly answered some of the one-off comments that poured into the chat. Most of the comments were compliments and directions: “ur hot af, bro!”, “lemme drain your balls!”, “flex your arms!”, “show us your pits!”....it was a firestorm of sex and seeing Derek so comfortable and chilled out about the whole thing was somewhat weird.
“I didn’t think he’d pack something that big.” Scott commented, stroking his dick.
Stiles snickered, thumbing at the head of his own cock. “You’re lame. Of course he was hung. Have you never paid attention to the way he walks?”
“I thought his pants were just too tight.”
“Yeah, that too...but like, that dick must get all squeezed and stuck in all kinds of uncomfortable positions when he’s trying to walk or run or stand around.”
Stiles and Scott continued to pleasure themselves, but neither of them were concerned with pulling themselves towards an orgasm. Instead, they took things slow and casual—laughing and cracking jokes whilst they kept special attention to Derek’s display of entertainment on the laptop screen. It was fun...kind of interesting....a definite topic for discussion.
It was incredibly strange watching Derek act so differently than expected. The man was a total walking bucket of broodiness just from day-to-day...but on the chatroom sex-cam, he was playful and bright and soft. There was an aura of casualness that seemed to radiate off of him. To watch Derek just sit back, all stretched-out, shirtless, hardened cock pulled out of a pair of track-pants—smiling and following all of the quick directions that got typed into the chat.
“Man, when you do think he’s gonna show his ass?” Stiles asked, overly dramatic and slightly frustrated.
“I don’t know — he’s been asked like twenty times by some of these other dudes.” Scott noted. “But it doesn’t look like he’s budging on the request.”
“So....what—?” Stiles scoffed. “He’s Dick-Tease Derek?”
Scott chuckled. “Ask him, dude.”
Stiles threw his hands up in surrender, laughing slightly as he picked the laptop up from the couch and set it back down into his lap. Anonymous guests in the cam-chat got a singular free message to type to a performer, whilst premium guests got unlimited questions to ask. Stiles wasn’t the “pay” kind of guy when it came to porn, especially not cam-shows. So he figured he’d use up his free comment for something important.
[ScrumptiousStyle]: “Hey, dick-tease. Nice dick, but I’m an ass guy. When are you gonna bend over and show us that thick ass?”
“Dude, what the fuck?!” Scott shouted, slapping his hand against Stiles’ shoulder. “He’s not gonna show us anything if you talk to him like that.”
“No — look.” Stiles alerted, pointing towards the influx of chat messages. Derek had responded, relatively quickly, providing some sort of help.
[DhaleBH]: “@ scrumptiousstyle, I don’t show that to just anybody. You gotta shell out the private room fee for that. $150. You wanna see this ass? Pay to play.”
“Fucker...” Stiles muttered, setting his laptop back down. “Is this how he pays for that loft? By ripping off poor horny college dudes with exorbitant ass-shot prices?”
“We should get a discount.”
Scott stood up from where he was sitting on the couch, wandering across the room to where his backpack was slouched down against the wooden television stand. He picked it up and rummaged through the contents for a moment, until he successfully fished his wallet out from the collection of crumbled papers and textbooks.
“Wait—are you actually gonna pay for this?” Stiles called out to Scott, looking down once more at the listed price for a private chat room, and then back up to Scott’s wallet. “This is basically robbery.”
“You wanna see Derek’s ass, right?” Scott asked, tossing his wallet across the room—striking Stiles square in the chest. “Well, he’s never gonna spread it for us outside of this chat, so come on. Pony up half the fee, we’ll watch Derek twerk for us, we’ll bust some loads, and it’ll be worth every penny.”
Scott was technically speaking the truth. Derek was such a prude when it came down to real life...there was no way in Hell that he’d ever show off his ass. Derek always hid it away inside of those tight jeans he wore, which were so tight that his ass barely got to even bounce around with movement and gravity.
Once the two were both settled back down onto the couch, Stiles pulled the laptop back into his control. He pulled up the payment window that was available inside of the chat, quickly entering in Scott’s debit card information, before submitting the finalized payment. When it was all said and done, Stiles laughed to himself, handing his roomie back the wallet and card.
It didn’t take long before Derek decided to react to the hefty payment. The public chat grayed out — kicking all of the other users out of the chatroom, effectively shifting everything into a private stream for Stiles and Scott’s pleasure. Meanwhile, Derek seemed to prepare himself for the show. He sat up straight in his desk chair and then started clacking away at his keyboard, typing out something.
[DhaleBH]: “You really must wanna see what I’ve got.”
[Scrumptiousstyle]: “Yeah....for $150 dollars, you better put that shit on display! That was some of our rent money.”
[DhaleBH]: “our??? Oh, so you’re watching w/ some friends?”
[Scrumptiousstyle]: “Just me and my roommate, two horny dudes, jerking off to you, dude...so are you gonna give us our money’s worth or not?”
Derek snickered, thumbing at his lip. He was somewhat impressed and visibly aroused by the demanding nature of the two charitable viewers. But instead of typing out something snarky in return, he got on with the show. He stood up from the desk chair that he had been sitting down in, giving the camera a particularly lewd shot of his dripping cock—which was still jutting out from above the waistband of his track pants.
He shoved the desk chair out of the way and maneuvered his camera around, pointing it in the direction of his bed. He needed more room to showcase what his private viewers had paid for. And surely, to the viewers’ satisfaction, Derek hopped up onto his mattress with a soft bounce—his back faced towards the camera, muscles sharp and flexed, with his clothed ass in frame.
Derek started to swivel his hips around, bending forward, arching his back, and letting the globes of his ass wobble with quick movement. Stiles and Scott started back with stroking their own cocks, attentive and receptive. Both of them watched the cam-show performance play out before them—mentally spun around with near disbelief. Derek was so comfortable with putting on his show for what he assumed to be total strangers.
Eventually, Derek looked back over his shoulder into the camera—flashing his anonymous viewers a quick smile—before he hooked the tips of his fingers into the waistband of his track pants and slowly pulled them downward. Stiles and Scott’s jaw dropped and their tongues practically hung out, sloppy with salivation, like hungry dogs.
Stiles and Scott traded handjobs, reaching over to clasp one of their hands around each other’s dicks. It added to the moment. Both of them wanted to suck as much pleasure as they could from watching the slutty display. Not to mention the fact that the feeling of somebody else’s hand felt way better. They had experimented together before, but it was a rarity. But considering the fact that they had just paid $150 dollars to watch Derek....it was a special kind of occasion.
“Hey, wait—I just thought of something.” Scott interrupted, tugging his hand away from Stiles’ leaking cock.
“Ah, come on dude.” Stiles complained, reluctantly bringing his own hand back to his cock. “I was getting into the moment.
Scott grabbed the laptop and started clacking away on the keyboard. Stiles lazily watched, more focused on what he could still see from Derek’s show. All the while, Scott pulled up some kind of sketchy looking program. Upon further investigation, Stiles was able to see that it was a screen-capture recorder, capable of recording what was was being displayed on the laptop.
“I’m gonna record it.” Scott said, booting up the program. “Then we can replay Derek show us his ass whenever we want.”
“Best money we’ve ever spent!” Stiles cheered, meeting Scott’s hand for a victorious high-five. “Now, get your hand back on my dick.”
Derek pressed forward into the camera, making it so that only the sharpness of his nose and plushness of his mouth were in frame. He made a grand show of sticking a couple of his fingers into the wetness of his mouth, slowly sinking them deeper into the darkness. He sucked on them passionately and lewdly, keeping it as pornographic as he could possibly manage.
And when they were sufficiently slicked up with his spit, Derek flopped backwards onto his mattress — kicking off his track-pants. He laid down onto his back and hoisted up his hairy legs, spreading them gently. Knowing that he had his audience members’ attention, Derek reached down with his spit-slicked fingers until they were in-between his legs, cupped underneath his balls, and right at his puckered entrance.
“Holy shit.” Scott breathed. “Is he actually about to finger himself for us?”
“He fucking better.” Stiles anticipated, gluing his eyes even harder to the laptop’s display.
Sure enough, the two roomies watched as Derek slowly slid two of his fingers into his hole. Derek kept it slow, but deep. He reached way deep into himself, pressing the tips of his fingers into his prostate with each insertion. Stiles and Scott swore that they could actually see sparks flash in Derek’s eyes whenever he pressed into himself....but the two could only imagine how tight he was.
Derek fingerfucked himself good and hard, picking up with pace without apology. His abs flexed intense with each jab and his very hard, very prominent erection stood proudly towards the ceiling — twitching and dripping each time that he fucked his fingers into his ass.
Meanwhile, a sheen of sweat began to glow on Derek’s overworked body. All of his body hair began to mat down with sweat onto the tanned skin of his body. But Derek refused to slow down the precision of his fingers. He continued to fuck up into himself, shouting out slurs and shouts of pleasure into the camera. His legs and feet shook violently and uncontrollably, reacting to the amount of delicious erotic juice that pumped through his veins.
“Do you think he’s about to shoot his load?” Scott asked, squeezing a tad bit harder at Stiles’ leaking cock.
“Yeah — look at his toes. They’re curling. His legs are shaking. His chest is heaving.” Stiles breathed. “And I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”
Stiles’ body tightened and his breath quivered, caught under the gracious hold of his best friend. He felt himself explode into Scott’s firm grasp, feeling the ooze of his warm cum ooze over his cockhead and down Scott’s knuckles. Scott didn’t let up on his stroke, he continued to move his hand, pushing Stiles past his point of over-stimulation until there were screams.
But it was fun.
“Derek’s gonna bust.” Scott acknowledged, popping some of the fingers that had been washed over with Stiles’ cum into his mouth. “Hurry up and finish me off. I wanna cum with him.”
Stiles scooped up some of his spent cum and clasped his newly sticky hand around Scott’s prominent girth, pumping up the speed and tightness. As they both kept their attention on Derek’s writhing mass of sweaty muscle, Stiles felt Scott’s body heat surge into the palm of his cum-covered hand. He kept stroking, thumbing over Scott’s cock-slit, and using his inactive hand to cup underneath Scott’s balls to his asshole.
Scott came with an explosive shout—as did Derek. Stiles felt Scott throb into the grasp of his hand, but he elected to watch Derek finger his way through his own orgasm. Whilst he watched whiteness splatter all over Derek’s cut abs, he felt Scott spill over his own knuckles. And yet, Stiles couldn’t tear his eyes away from where Derek’s fat cock throbbed and the sight of Derek’s fingers shoved into the tightness of his ass.
The two watched as Derek sat up from where he had been laid on his back. He stared in the direction of the camera in a simple daze. Spent cum slowly drooled down his washboard abs, catching in the trail of black hair that stretched from Derek’s navel to his crotch. Derek sat there for a moment, catching his breath, and coming down from his orgasm...and then he winked.
Stiles and Scott watched as Derek winked directly into the camera. As they rested against the backing of the couch, they watched Derek reach forward and shut off the livestream, without giving as much as a final “thank you” for the private payment. But instead of scoffing out, Stiles and Scott just snickered to themselves—staring down to where they were both covered in their own cum.
“Dude—” Scott groaned. “—you owe me seventy-five dollars.”
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